Pressed for Time
by chele681
Summary: Is it possible to fall in love in five minutes? "He showed me what he was reading and, accidentally, I think he may have shown me his soul" BxE  Written with Twanza AH
1. 1

**Disclaimer:** SM's intellectual property rights are retained. Our intellect is questionable.

**A/N:** Twanza and I originally wrote this story as a O/S for a contest called "Fun With Your Clothes On," but we've decided to continue it because neither of us has the heart to leave Edward in his current state. ElleCC has graciously joined the team to make sure we stay on our toes, and our forever goal is to make her either swoon or laugh.

* * *

When you ask a child what he wants to be when he grows up, he never tells you that he wants to be an asshole. And yet, here I was, living the dream.

I was just back from another suck ass client meeting, and the email in front of me already indicated the changes that needed to be made for a presentation in the morning. I thought of the work that needed to get done between now and then. I could dive in now, work late, and maybe have a bit of the evening to myself. Or I could fuck off, give up the evening, probably most of the early morning, and get the work done later.

Times like these called for the creation of a personal mantra.

_Please fire me._

Because the Account Director starts every email with "Greetings and Salutations," as if she's making first contact with the home planet.

_Please fire me._

Because I have been here for three years and just got a raise that will result in an extra $187 per month, which I am supposed to be happy about because others are getting nothing due to "budget restrictions."

Like a lot of employees in a startup, we were working around the clock for below fair market wages hoping for a payoff down the road. The company was going through typical growing pains, but none of us were sure if all of the time and sweat invested in it would ever amount too much, but…

_Please fire me._

Because a five-year-old could hack into our server, I know that the agency just hired a freelancer who charges a hundred and fifty dollars an hour. And that the senior management team has awarded themselves bonuses that are equal to more than I might make in three years.

I looked over at McCarty's cube and the stupid poster hanging on the half wall next to his desk.

_Hard work often pays off after time, but laziness always pays off now._

He looked up and flipped me off in greeting. I returned the gesture and grinned.

My mind went there and I knew I was going to do it at the same time I told myself I absolutely would not.

_This isn't procrastination, it's obsession._

Staring out the window, I noticed it looked like it always did. Gray. I looked at the clock on my computer screen. Two o'clock. Three hours until I could conceivably leave, make the excuse that I had an appointment and then worry that everyone would judge me for being the first to blink. So I procrastinated my obsession and picked up the phone to call Tanya at work. She chattered on, sharing gossip about people I didn't know before she reciting a litany of things I needed to do. I didn't listen. The words blurred as she moved on to what we might have for dinner.

I launched my rolling chair away from my desk and popped my head into the Group Director's cube. We were already scheduled to present the revisions from the meeting we'd just fucking come back from. He reminded me of the client meeting first thing in the morning.

_In case I was unclear._

"No problem, Yorkie, just put a fucking quarter in my ear."

He looked at me, annoyed at my sarcasm. _Fucking inconsistent bastard._ Some days he was up for a good snarky comment, sometimes he was all fucking management. Today his sense of humor was nowhere to be found.

"I'll need a chance to see it before the meeting. When can you get it to me?"

I looked at my watch for no reason other than effect. "Well, considering it's two now and there are three concepts to revise, I'd say about four in the morning."

"Meet me for breakfast at seven?"

My entire night compressed in front of me. I pinched the bridge of my nose, fucking exhausted before I'd even begun. I told him I was running out to get coffee.

I turned and walked away just in time to hear him say, "E! Want me to call in the freelancer on this?"

I stood in front of the elevators and pressed the down button about twenty times in rapid-fire succession as if that would make the car come quicker. A girl with an armload of black foam core boards looked at me and I gave her a nod, which she returned with a grimace. I pressed the down button another few times and ran my hand through my hair. She looked down at the ground and sighed.

_Why were we all so fucking desperate?_

It was a rhetorical question, but if anybody could give me an answer, it was her.

I ran my hand through my hair again and pushed through the revolving door. Out on the plaza people were milling around at the café, sitting on the steps, laughing, joking.

_It was fucking two in the afternoon. What did these people do for a living?_

I thought of her, though, and felt excited, still kidding myself that I wasn't going to see her.

I shoved my hands into my pockets, picked up my pace and turned toward the avenue. The block was perfect in its dinginess. The blue scaffolding around the building they'd just torn down was already covered with guerrilla postings and sharpie graffiti. The deli next door looked so filthy, I couldn't conceive of eating anything out of its salad bar, yet there were ten people inside scooping up shit and whapping it into plastic containers.

A bum sat on the sidewalk, a little dog in his lap. A cardboard sign perched next to him detailed precisely how unkind fate had been to him. I gave him the change in my pocket without meeting his eyes. Further up the street the little old Filipino lady sat on the same sidewalk, knees bent toward her chest. Next to her was a plastic bag of sweet rolls. If you didn't know, you'd think she was just another panhandler, but the rolls she sold were delicious, three for five dollars. I'd had them for breakfast. I looked at her, hoping to she would smile, but she didn't make eye contact with me as I passed.

I stopped in front of the store, remembering the first time I'd gone in.

_The fear._

I'd gone to get something for Tanya's birthday, something I could have gotten online but I wanted to see if I had the stones to do it. Rather than buying the same thing on Amazon, like a pussy, I'd convinced myself that my ability to buy it in person from the sex shop was part of the gift.

I'd pushed into the store. The guy at the counter looked up from his newspaper, gave me the once over and returned to the sports section of _The Daily News_. I caught a glimpse of myself in the video monitor on the wall behind the cash register, ducked my head down and hunched my shoulders, not knowing where to look.

_It was fucking wall-to-wall porn._

I laughed at myself and ventured further into the store, browsing the aisles, looking at the DVDs, magazines, books, sex toys, lingerie, and what seemed like an entire wall of condoms.

_Condoms._

It occurred to me that I felt just as perverted buying rubbers at the grocery store as I did in a fucking sex shop on Eighth Avenue. Since Tanya was too embarrassed to buy them when she went grocery shopping trip, I had to make a special trip, walking up and down the aisles pulling random shit off the shelves and chucking it into the little basket on my arm, just so I didn't have to go through the line with the solitary blue box in my hand.

_Frozen pizza. Printer paper. Light bulbs. Trojan Magnums._

Every time I did it I tried not to imagine the interpretation the fucking cashier would give to the assortment of shit I'd managed to collect and line up on the conveyor belt – as if this didn't happen in the checkout line a hundred times a day.

I spotted the sign on the back wall that said "Five minutes: $35." I was an asshole for being relieved at the five minutes, rather than horrified by the expense.

I felt for my wallet, but decided not to leave a trail of receipts and reached in my front pocket for cash. I pulled out two twenties and the slot for money sucked in the bills and gave me five bucks change in silver dollars, which I would definitely mistake for quarters later. The machine spit out a ticket with a code on it. I pushed the curtain aside and saw a few rooms. Some were marked vacant, some were "in use." I thought of the sign on the bathrooms in airplanes.

_Occupado._

I walked into one of the rooms, which had a bench in front of an expanse of leaded glass. Other than the security shield over the window, it looked like the fucking lobby at the agency. My mind raced and I felt my nerves center in my gut. I located the keypad above a coin slot and bill changer. I punched in the code and the metal screen rolled up. I sat in front of it, no idea what I'd see, but certain the scene would be degrading for both of us.

She was sitting on a chair in the little room and looked over at me. She was so totally over it. She stubbed out the cigarette she was smoking. I immediately decided to leave, afraid she'd dance or something humiliating for both of us, but then I felt bad that she'd feel insulted or rejected. I forced myself to stay still and just fucking man up.

She started out bored. Our eyes met, and she simply moved around the little room. She had on a halter-top and a pair of tiny cut off jeans with fishnet stockings. Her black eyeliner was smudged, artfully. Goth. Suicide Girls. Her fingernails were bitten and painted black. There was a hole in her stocking at the thigh. Her hair was wild. Naturally brown but a bit bleached like she'd been at the beach.

She was young and almost too thin, but not. Her tits were high and her waist was tiny. I could certainly get my hands around it. She didn't dance, so much as walk around, like she was in her own private space doing her thing, getting undressed. She turned around so I could see her back. The cut of her jeans was so short that I could see the cheeks of her ass peek through. She untied the bow at the back of her halter, and I saw a few freckles across her shoulder blades. She drew the fabric away from her and dropped it on the floor, but didn't turn immediately around.

Her legs were long. There was another hole in the fishnet on the inside of her calf. I dragged my eyes down and smiled at her black combat boots. They didn't look like part of a costume, they looked like they belonged to her, and I imagined her walking down the street in them. She walked around a little, and picked up the book she'd been reading. The chair in the room was facing me, but she sat down on it sideways, giving me the profile of her body. She crossed her legs and leaned back a little. I saw her profile, as she read. Her tits were perfection, tilted up at an angle that made me want to touch them. I knew exactly how they'd feel in my hands, at exactly which point her nipple would press into my palm. Her thighs were lean and long and she kicked her boot a little like she was passing the time, waiting for something, or just fidgety.

She turned toward me on the chair and I got the full on image, which thundered into my eyes. She looked up and her dark eyes focused on mine. I didn't want to, but I couldn't help but look at her tits, perfect and round and very real. I also noticed the title of the book. "Hot & Cold," by Richard Hell. I grinned excitedly because I was reading it too, and I pulled it out of my messenger bag to show it to her. She walked over to the window to show me what page she was on and pressed it to the glass. I had to walk over to her to see what she was showing me, and the action of moving toward her felt incredibly intimate. Like walking in on someone in the bathroom, and being allowed to stay.

She pointed at a paragraph for me to read.

_"__You realize there are certain things that you'll never do that you always thought would be part of your future, ... It's a big relief to discover what you are best-suited for, and it's a real advantage to be able then to focus. You can just jettison all this useless floundering around, attempting to do stuff that's really not in your range, and focus."_

She was like the fucking oracle and I opened my book to the page I'd been rereading for days.

_"When I do dig down, I'm very irritated underneath...Why can't I just write a book about taking a walk and having a cup of coffee? It kind of annoys me about myself. If I could do it differently, I would. It's not some kind of principle. It's just in my nature somehow."_

The floor of her room was slightly raised from the one I was in, and she was almost my height. She smiled and put her palm against the glass wall and I covered hers with mine. She slowly squatted down to put her book on the floor, leaving it open on her page. The stretch of her arm, the absolute lock she had on the glass, and the way she lowered her body was almost like ballet. I noticed little white scars on her arms, not needle punctures, more like tiny cuts that had long since healed. And when she stood back up, as slowly as she'd gone down, I saw another thin white scar on her throat. I swallowed, feeling tender and inflamed at the same time. She pressed her other hand up against the glass. I put my hand on her breast as she flattened against the transparent wall. I imagined her heat through the chill.

She never took off more than her top, and I would have tried to stop her if she had, but I put my other hand against her chest, the hard flat surface a welcome barrier. This was more intense than feeling her skin and both of us were aroused. Our bodies moved together, pressing and touching. I ran my hand up and down her thigh and she put her forehead against the glass, and though her mouth never touched it, her breath steamed the surface between us.

I ran my hand down the glass them from her chest down to her thigh, leaving a trail of moist fingerprints that evaporated almost as soon as they appeared. She pressed herself against the glass. I put my hand where, if I could have penetrated the barrier, it would have rested firmly between her legs, following her heat, encouraging it. I remembered that glass was the liquid form of sand, and I wanted the heat of her body to turn it molten so that I could slip inside.

She put her hand where I'd pressed my dick against the wall and her other hand against herself, stroking with her palm. I wanted to watch her come, though I didn't want her to watch me come unless I was actually holding her. I felt so intensely erect. I wanted her to stop, but it became urgent. I needed her to finish.

_God I needed her to come._

The whir of the motor on the fucking safety window started and time was up. The window closed. Not enough cash. Couldn't do credit. So I left fast. Back to work.

_Throb._

_Dick._

_Fuck._

I thought of the girl leaning against the wall. She showed me my reality. I got paid to do a strip tease every fucking day of my life for assholes that stood and watched.

I had gone home that first time and bent Tanya over the back of the couch the minute I got home. She was surprised and pleased, and I felt a little better for realigning myself, but the ache didn't really go away. I caught her a little later and dragged her to bed in the midst of her favorite show. She complained, but I made her stop that shit.

Days went by. I couldn't stop thinking of the girl. Work was fantastically busy, and one afternoon I sleep walked back to the store. And I went again. Sometimes it was once a week. Sometimes it was once a day over many days. I didn't know if I was there to stare at myself or whether I was there to see her.

She always wore those adorable army boots and an array of punk shit. Over time she did things just to make me laugh; like wearing a ski hat with a fauxhawk of fringe down the center. She chewed bubble gum and pressed a Bazooka Joe comic against the glass. She showed me a graphic novel she was reading and I immediately went out and bought the same one and read it all in one sitting. Tanya was convinced I was going off the deep end, and so was I, but I'd never been so stimulated and happy.

She didn't always strip, and sometimes we just read together, hanging out like we were in her living room. And she knew how to touch herself, not simply because it was required of our transaction, but because she fucking knew how I wanted to touch her. And that's what it was. But one day, after a spectacularly bad week of presentations and criticisms, of listening to Tanya make mind-numbingly boring plans for our future, I went back to the shop, desperate to see her.

She hadn't look surprised to see me, or disappointed that I hadn't been around. I sat down on the bench. We started our usual negotiation of what it might be. She was reading and had a notebook and pencil next to her. She almost looked like she was studying. She showed me what she'd written... her handwriting a little bit crabbed, but sweet and legible.

_"You're in this state, a human being crushed under a steamroller. Totally drained. It's the fatigue itself that becomes a kind of luminosity. As though you're radiating light, it's fantastic; you're like a jellyfish in the water. Instead of being here, always worrying about what's going wrong in your little brain…well by the end there's no more brain."*_

I'd wanted to feel lightened, but more than interesting ideas. I leaned back against the pillows on the bench while I drank her in. I rubbed my hand over my shirt and then over the back of my neck. I grabbed my hair and a shuddering breath wracked through me. She seemed to understand and pulled off her tight white t-shirt, then leaned against the window with one arm. She put her other hand down her pants. I sat back, doing the same. I stroked myself up and down the length of my shaft through my boxers, my penis achingly erect between my thighs, hard and firm, the head swollen and pulsing. My hand slid onto my erection, working it up and down, up and down, my thighs fell apart, my hips angled up towards the stroke of my hand. I needed this. I needed to come.

I'd closed my eyes and masturbated more urgently, my thighs trembling, imagining her hands on my chest, touching, stroking... lips caressing my neck, my chest, my belly... I feel a mouth engulf my hard cock, sucking and licking greedily... I'm going to come any moment... but try to hold it back just a little longer... and looked at her because I wanted to see her when I came... but she was there too, masturbating with me... one hand on the glass, fingers sliding against it seeking an impossible grip, the other between her legs... ... needing to fuck me… and the fucking window starts to close and I jump up from the bench and shove money into the slot, not knowing how many bills I shoved into it, and grabbing a new code. The window closed all the way and I panicked, but opened again and we both look at each other shocked.

Stumbling toward the window, I'd watched her soundless gasp as I put my hand on her. I made circular movements against her pants, where I imagine she would like it... I need her to come, to not hold back... this is fucking urgent, because we both know how little time there is, and I need this for both of us. I rub up against the glass with my dick and I hope she is imagining my hand through the glass. She drifts one hand under mine, helping me to touch her, and the other runs up over her belly... up over her breasts... I follow her, almost like we're mirror images of each other, my fingertips brushing over her nipple...squeezing... caressing... she surrenders, no longer able to resist... her fingers rubbing, stroking, faster, harder, her thighs wide apart, displaying herself to me... exposed and helpless with lust... only for the briefest moment it occurs to me that she's mine... and I am gone, bumping against the glass while she places her palm against the place where my cheek is resting. The gate started to close again, and she ran to her bag and knelt on the ground trying to write her phone number backwards on the window with a lipstick. I followed her down and just as it got too low, she peeked under the gate as it closed dragging her fingers through the red smear to say goodbye.

I shook myself from the memory, my hand still gripping the door handle, and went inside. I hadn't been back for a while, too shaken by the experience – but I found myself wondering about her more and more as time passed.

I'd went through the motions with the money and the buttons, but when the window rolled up this time it was another girl. I watched, stunned, but it did nothing for me, as empty and humiliating an experience as I'd expected it to be the first time. I stayed through to the end out of politeness, but I felt dirty, which wasn't something I'd ever felt with the other girl.

I asked about her at the counter. The guy looked up from the paper and said, "I think she went back to school."

I didn't go back and things went sort of back to normal at work. I followed Tanya blindly as she led me around by the nose. I went through the motions of what everyone expected of me, versus what I wanted to do, and achieved the perfect work/life balance. Both sucked. In balance.

- o0o -

Tanya and I went to Hartford for Easter, "Insurance Capital of the World," and I'd be hearing about that a lot for the next three days. On the way to Tanya's parents, we drove through towns that got more and more rural until they became small, tasteful farms, gardens that had run amok from wealth. Llamas, an ostrich, and angora goats as pets.

Fortunately I knew there would be endless rounds of drinks. Once the first bottle of wine was opened we'd drink everything in the house until we'd sucked it dry, feeling comfort not in our companionship, but that it was fucking insured that in the morning someone would have set out a bottle of Tylenol next to the mimosas and the coffee.

Easter Mass was ten a.m. We showed up late because Tanya couldn't decide which dress to wear. I had also wasted a little time slugging back a couple of bloody Mary's, trying to convince her that we could miss mass this one time and no one would care. We slipped into very last pew, the one right in front of the crying room, where the people sat with their infants and toddlers behind a full glass window so the kids could be indoctrinated without disrupting the proceedings by behaving like...kids. The couple at the end was annoyed when they had to slide their asses down a foot so we could fit in. We nodded pleasantly, and I gripped the woman's hand and whispered an insincere "peace be with you," then turned to offer the same to a few people in the pew behind me.

My most hated part of the service now over, I immediately let my brain fog over. I leafed through the missal, played with the newsletter, looking at the advertising for the funeral home and the florist displayed prominently on the back page. I pointed it out to Tanya with disdain and she shushed me and pointed to the front as if to chastise me for not paying attention.

I looked up at the priest. Father Peter, or just "Peter" as we called him. He'd begun leading the congregation at some point when I was in high school. He was young himself and often read from The New York Times to keep our interest, drawing allusions from current events to make his point about ancient ones. He was saying something about a new offering. I caught the tail end of introductions. "I'd like to welcome Bella Swan as our new sign language interpreter. She's a teacher at the American School for the Deaf and will be with us for the rest of the semester."

Appropriately, no one in the congregation made a sound, because we were only there to say the rehearsed shit, anything that said "People" in the script. I leafed through the music book, trying to pick out the next song they'd play based on the numbers posted on the wall up by the organist.

Then we began the process of stand up, sit down, fight fight fight.

The priest said something rote. Everyone, including me, mumbled in response. I stared down at the kneeler and thought I'd try to lift it with my foot, but before I could Tanya nudged me and said, "At least look like you're paying attention." I looked over at her and gave her a polite grimace of attention. She leaned in to me and said, "I forgot money for the collection. Did you bring any cash?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single dollar and a twenty. I handed her the one and she whispered, "Nice try, hand it over."

When the basket came by Tanya dropped in the big bucks and I dropped in the single and some change. Since there was nothing else I could get with it, I figured I might as well use it to save my soul.

_There you go: $1.64 and some pocket lint._

I contemplated the contents of my now empty pockets, but was interrupted when I heard Peter laugh. Others around me laughed and I looked up. The girl from the sex shop was standing next to the lectern smiling in delight and signing with her hands. I stared transfixed, fairly certain she couldn't be who I thought she was, but the more I watched, the more I knew. I stood a head taller than most, and I hoped she would see me, while praying she wouldn't.

Time for communion. The priest gave the sacrament to those on the altar first, and I watched the girl take it in her mouth, not her hand.

Row after row of people stood and filed up the aisle. When it was our turn, Tanya looked at me shocked when I stood up and stepped out into the aisle. She followed behind me and I waited to let her go first. We walked slowly, and I remembered watching Tanya and her bridesmaids walk down this aisle three years ago. Step and pause. Step and pause. Afterwards, at the rehearsal dinner, I'd proceeded to get shitfaced like I'd never been shitfaced before.

When Tanya got to the front of the line, she got solemn, went through the routine, then bowed her head and made her way back to our seat. I stepped up and the priest smiled and said "Edward."

I greeted him in kind, "Peter," and my eyes skirted over to the stage where she sat.

And he responded, "Body of Christ."

"Amen."

I stepped to the side, putting the round disc of cardboard in my mouth, and blessed myself almost directly in front of her. The host was like a play piece from a board game, and it stuck to the roof of my mouth. I picked at it with my tongue and finally loosened it and swallowed. I got back to the pew and knelt next to Tanya, who had her head down. I clasped my hands in front of me and looked up at the altar.

Tanya gave me a nudge with her elbow, then a sidelong glance and said, "Holy shitballs, look at that." She leaned in conspiratorially. "Newton is going bald in the back." I looked up at the back of Mike Newton's head, which was, in fact going slightly bald. I nodded at Tanya and she sneakily whipped her cell phone out of her purse and took a picture, then texted it to someone.

I looked up at the altar again, which was settling into the last quarter of the game. Pussy willows and daffodils were arrayed all across it. I thought of the flower sale advertised in the program and suggested to Tanya that we get something for our mothers before lunch. Tanya shook her head at me, annoyed. "Don't you listen to anything I say?" she hissed. "I already told you we were going to do that."

"Right."

The mass ended and we were instructed to go in peace. When the celebrants had made their way out, we followed and walked out of the front of the church to socialize before heading over to the school for the festivities. The Newtons caught up with us almost immediately. Tanya smiled wryly at him, then gave him a hug and a kiss, before moving on to talk to his sister and mother.

Newton grabbed my arm and pointed at the school building, an ersatz modern structure they'd built in some 60s area fervor. He pointed at the building. "Dude, it's the ten o'clock titty."

I looked up. Because of the design, and the positioning of it geographically, a distinct shadow resembling a woman's breast was cast both in the morning and in the afternoon on the West and East sides of the church, respectively. We had spent a lot of time looking at the ten and two o'clock titties.

Peter broke away from the group he was with and walked over to us. He looked up at the wall we were staring at. "Ah, the ten o'clock titty."

I looked at him and grinned and he grabbed me in a hug. "Edward, it's good to see you," then turned and shook hands with Mike, and said "Newton."

Mike said, "Where's my hug?" And Peter said, "I've heard your confession, Mike. I'm giving Edward the benefit of the doubt." The priest looked at me. I smirked and shrugged my shoulders.

He walked us over to the gymnasium, and up to the refreshment table filled with pastries, coffee and colored eggs. I grabbed a cup of coffee and told Peter a little of what I'd been doing with my life. He asked me if everything was going OK, and though his words were innocent, I knew what he meant. When Tanya and I had gotten engaged, he had taken me aside during one of the pre-Cana classes and asked if I was really ready for the commitment.

I had been surprised when he'd asked, and had assured him that I was more than ready. My life was on track. I had a job offer in New York City at a great firm, my high school sweetheart was almost my wife, my parents had paid for my school loans, and Tanya's parents had lent us enough money so that we could buy a small apartment. Perfect. All expectations in place.

I plastered on my best client meeting smile and assured him that all was well. He nodded, but didn't appear at all reassured, and we both looked around the room, not having anything else to say. There were pots of hyacinth, tulips, and lilies lined up, ready to go. I saw Tanya in line at one of the tables and wandered off to look at the award case – searching for the picture of my high school basketball team. I wondered what happened to those guys. I turned around, trying not to look like I was looking for her, and noticed Tanya holding two white Easter lilies. I fucking hated the smell of those flowers, the odor almost intolerable to me.

I noticed the girl just off to my right, smiling and talking with her hands to a few people. It reminded me of how she'd been in the store, small smiles and hands. She stepped over shyly and I said "Hello," not knowing what else to say.

I felt the room getting hotter. The jacket I'd begrudgingly put on this morning threatened to suffocate me and I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop myself from touching her. Looking around, I tried to get my bearings and noticed the door to the back stage propped open with a trashcan.

"Follow me?" I whispered. With a quick glance over my shoulder I slipped out into the hall and made my way over to the door. I kicked the plastic can out of the way, but left the door cracked behind me in invitation, hoping. I leaned against the back of an old prop couch, the same one we'd used for the performance of Our Town years ago, and tried to steady my breathing. I waited anxiously to see if she would accept my invitation, though I had nothing to offer.

The room was dim, and when the door opened and she walked in it reminded me of the metal curtain going up.

_Five minutes._

She approached me like she knew what I was thinking. The shyness she had shown in the hall evaporated with each step. She peeled off her sweater as she came closer, laying it over the back of the couch. When she stood a few inches away, she raised her hand. I followed her example, replaying our traditional greeting, but without barriers. I could feel her breath on my face, and smell her shampoo. The mixture of lavender and cotton completed her perfectly. That smell would haunt me, I knew.

Our hands moved at an agonizing pace and my eyes were trapped following the motion. When they met she first touched the tip of her middle finger to mine, and trailed it down to the center of my palm.

Her touch was warm and soft, and I pulled her to me. I moved both hands down her body, and as I'd known I could, I fitted both hands around her waist. I touched my forehead to hers and said her name, for the first time.

"Bella."

The two syllables left my mouth like a prayer. I felt like I was in the confessional. I couldn't leave until she'd given me her penance. Her breathing was heavy, as labored as mine. We stood for a moment exchanging the same breath. I moved both hands to her chest and felt the fullness of her tits.

_Three minutes left._

I imagined the security shield going down and took liberties. I touched her between her legs, against the jersey of her dress. She was liquid hot and I finally felt my hand penetrate the glass. She stood on tiptoes against me and gave me access. I pushed the fabric between her and closed my eyes. I backed her to the wall, and she put her hands on my hips, bringing herself against my dick. I grabbed her ass and she spoke to me with her touch, as she ran her fingers up and down my back. I had to break away, there would never be time enough for us and I was desperate to do the one thing we hadn't done yet.

I grabbed her face with both of my hands and looked at her. She was so dear, more familiar to me than my own reflection. I brought my mouth to hers, and kissed her gently- afraid to push her too far, when she'd already taken me further than I had ever anticipated I could go. She opened up to me and I bit her lips to savor her, take her inside of me. She tasted like candy apple, and I wanted to bite through her mouth and crack the outer shell. Her tongue flicked out to me, hot and sweet.

_One minute._

I let my mouth roam to her neck, my hands seeking out every curve I'd ached to touch. I whispered my obsession into her skin, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't hear me, but hoping she could feel the words and understand. We kissed and tongued, while we rubbed and gasped, feeling each other not for the first time but for the essential time.

_Times up. I have to go._

She looked up and smiled. A dear, sweet look on her face, and I hated leaving her in the box again. I thought of all the times I'd left her - like she'd been a dream - to return to my reality. Had I ever considered what happened to her once I walked away? I'd taken for granted that she'd be there for me.

_Mine__._

She stepped out of my grasp and straightened her dress. On her way out the door she came to me and stood on her toes to press her lips to my temple. When she left, I was the one in the box.

I sat on the couch for a few minutes to collect myself, then walked back into the gym and stopped. Bella stood near the windows. She stood separate and apart, contemplating the crowd of people as if they were an entirely different species.

I saw Peter camped out near the refreshment table, greeting and eating. I walked up to say goodbye, but kept my eye on Bella. He noticed my glance and motioned for her to join us. She smiled nervously.

"Bella," he said formally, "I'd like you to meet my friend, Edward Cullen."

I looked at Peter and said, "I don't know sign language. Can you tell her I'm happy to meet her?"

They both smiled at me, and the priest said "Bella can hear perfectly well, but she is mute." I looked over at her and she nodded at me and touched the scar at the base of her throat. The one I'd just had my mouth on.

"Oh," I said, stunned, remembering thinking about that scar, and the others on her arms. "I didn't know."

I looked down at her arms, but the sweater covered them. Her fingernails were still short, but they were unpainted and not so very chewed.

"Edward is a writer."

I looked up at Bella, her eyes wide and listening.

"I - um - I don't write so much anymore, actually. I mean I do, I work for an advertising agency. I'm a copywriter," I said dragging the words out of my mouth, wishing I could say anything else. "I have a couple of my own things going on, but I'm busy." I thought of the pile of paper next to my bed; the great American novel ignored and abused through too much time and tweaking.

Peter said, "I lived in the City for a while. I have my real estate license. Well, had my license. Bella's from there too."

No matter how many fucking priests I met, I never could reconcile that they weren't born with black jackets and white-banded collars on. That they'd had to turn completely inside out, and renounce a lot of shit that I never could, in order to reinvent themselves.

_Reinvent._

I looked at Bella, just as Tanya stepped over with two lilies under her arms. She handed them both to me and I was overpowered by their toxic aroma. I felt them chasing away Bella's scent as if trying to banish her imprint on my olfactory and wished I could stop breathing to trap it there. Tanya hugged the priest and was introduced to Bella, then proceeded to chatter on, gossiping about a few friends while she picked the pollen pods from the lilies, her fingers staining orange as she effectively emasculated the flower.

We stood around for a moment in awkward silence, before Tanya said, "Well, we're expected back by noon. It was nice to meet you, Bella. So nice to see you again, Father." Tanya stepped away to say goodbye to another group of friends and I lingered for a minute, not nearly ready to leave. Peter made the first move though.

"Better get going. You don't want to be late for lunch." I had the flowerpots and couldn't shake his hand, so he placed his hand on my arm. "Take care of yourself, Edward."

Tanya stepped behind me and said, "Ready?"

Bella signed something and Peter said, "She said it was really nice to meet you."

I looked at her and said, "The pleasure was mine, I'm sure," and touched my hand to my chest.

Bella signed again, touching her index finger to her forehead, then moving her hands to either shoulder, fingers spread. They looked like wings. "She says she has hope for you," Peter said, and gave me a look.

I put my hand over my heart and stood mute.

The priest led Bella away and I watched as the crowd enveloped them. Tanya and I headed off to the double doors of the gym and we pushed out into the sunlight and headed to the car.

"Hey 'Froggy Goes A Courtin','" she laughed. "Did you just arrive from the last century to grace us with your presence? The pleasure was mine, I'm sure? What the fuck, Edward?" She tucked her arm in mine and I ignored her as we walked to the car.

* * *

**A/N:** Twanza & I say "I love you" in hand speak.

***Source**: Bella's journal entry is really from this amazing blog http:/nightmarebrunette (dot) tumblr (dot) com/ which is deep, dark, poetic, philosophical and so very NSFW that we might have to come up with a new term for it.


	2. 2

**Disclaimer: **SM's intellectual property rights are retained. Our intellect is questionable.

**A/N: **Hello!This is a continuation of our story "Pressed for Time" which was written for the "Fun w/ Your Clothes On" contest. If you haven't, please read Ch 1 first, or you will be terribly you to SweetDulcinea for reassuring us, and to ElleCC for being so very wonderful and especially for not humoring us.

* * *

When we got back from church Tanya's mother asked me to hide plastic eggs in the backyard. I took the job thankfully, but found myself more and more agitated about the morning's discovery and subsequent events. Walking around the massive backyard, I mindlessly placed brightly colored eggs under patio furniture and in the garden. I remembered the taste of her mouth, the heat of her skin. The more I thought of her, the more frustrated I got. When I thought of her simple gesture of goodbye, I chucked the last egg into the cornfield that edged the yard.

I felt like a shithead when Tanya's six-year-old nephew, in tears, had to enlist his parents to help hunt for his last egg. Her brother-in-law gave me a "what-the-fuck-I'm-starving" look when I claimed not to remember where I'd hidden it. They finally gave up, and we went in for lunch. The kid looked at me accusingly from across the table through the entire meal.

We left Hartford almost immediately after. The plan had been to stay until after dinner and avoid traffic heading back to New York, but I couldn't stay in town knowing she was close by. I took the long way to the highway so I could pass the school, then slowed down at the sign at the drive to look at the building, which was mostly hidden from the road. Its turrets rose up above the tree line. Tanya looked like she wanted to say something, but didn't, and I got the silent treatment all the way home, which was fucking fine by me.

By the time we got home, I was tense as hell. She went straight to the bedroom to unpack, and I followed. I felt guilty, but I needed to do something to relax. By this point, we had sex mostly out of habit, but one thing I couldn't complain about was her willingness to accommodate me. We fucked in almost complete silence, neither of us wanting to give in to the other. When we were done, Tanya rolled over, turned out the light. When she grumbled, "Apology accepted," any words of contrition I might have said evaporated in my mind.

I tossed and turned most of the night, and finally got up an hour before my alarm. I sat in the living room and searched for anything that might give me more information about her. I got all worked up and felt compelled to write down my memories of her, effectively turning my obsession into a fucking avocation.

_I shoved the money into the slot and the safety screen went up. She was standing near the glass wall with one foot up on the chair, the laces of her boot untied. The bend of her bare leg and an almost obscene amount of creamy skin was exposed all the way up to the cheek of her ass, which peeked out of a pair of tiny black shorts. Her hair was up in a messy ponytail. She looked startled, like she'd been caught doing something naughty, but when she saw it was me, she smiled in relief._

_My eyes shifted down to her loose laces and back to her face. I raised an eyebrow at her in question and her expression lit up like she had a plan. She bent over slowly and unlaced the other boot, then tugged it off. I watched as she stretched her naked toes, entranced by the little pink creases where the seams had pushed against her skin. _

_She pulled a small bottle from her pocket and sat with her left shoulder against the glass, one leg on the floor, the other pulled up close to her as she began to paint her toenails with shimmery red polish. Seeing her bare feet felt significantly intimate, like I was sharing the Saturday morning version of her instead of Tuesday afternoon's. She held the bottle up for me to read: "Something Wicked this Way Comes." I laughed and she grinned before returning to her task. I could see the swirl of hair on the back of her neck and was close enough to discern every freckle on her shoulder. I traced my finger on the glass and counted. Sixteen. I wondered how many were hidden under the tiny tank top. I wanted to know with certainty these exact details about her. _

_I stayed in the darkened booth for five minutes after the metal curtain rolled down and separated us, determined that no one would slip into the room until after she was done._

When I heard Tanya's alarm go off, I closed the laptop and made my way into the kitchen to grab a bowl of cereal.

"You're up early."

"I had a few thoughts I wanted to write down."

She poured herself a cup of coffee. When she said, "So, here's what I've got on my list…" I pretended I hadn't heard and headed off to the shower.

The water was hot and soothing. I thought about yesterday. Those fucking army boots under her dress. The way she'd taken off her sweater before she'd stepped into my arms. I soaped up and stroked myself, ready to come almost immediately. When I felt the stream about to race through my dick, I put my forehead against the glass of the shower door, imagining she was on the other side. I came against the warm glass, and two seconds later, Tanya walked in unannounced.

"Okay, Aqua Man, time's up."

She was pretty fucking funny when she wanted to be, though it was always at someone else's expense. I felt bad that we didn't laugh anymore, but I was relieved that I hadn't been caught, because I never would have heard the end of it.

I left the water running for her, and wrapped myself in a towel. We went about our morning routine and left the apartment together. "See you later," she said, yesterday's trespasses forgotten, or at least saved up with the rest to be trotted out at a more opportune time. She tilted her face up in expectation when we got to the corner. I gave her a brief kiss on the lips before we went our separate ways.

I was the obligatory eight minutes late getting into the office. I nodded at Emmett in greeting as I passed by, and he returned the gesture by cocking his head in the direction of my cube.

Yorkie was already waiting for me. When I got to my desk, I noticed that he was looking intently at the picture of Tanya I'd taken on our honeymoon. It was just another object on my desk. More interesting than my stapler, less interesting than the ball of rubber bands I'd been collecting. I hadn't really looked at it in months. I slammed my messenger bag down and he jumped.

Instead of being suitably embarrassed at being caught in the act of fingering my wife's bikini-clad body, he made a snarky comment. "E, my man! Sleeping in again?" He raised his eyebrows suggestively and indicated the photo. When I didn't respond he continued, "I'd never be on time, either, with this at home."

I ignored him, took the photo out of his hands and threw it in the top drawer of my desk. He was wearing his "everyone's best friend" smile, which meant he needed a favor, but fuck me if I was going to make it easy on him by asking what was up.

I hoped Yorkie would have the common decency to give me a minute to gather myself so I could at least pretend I gave a shit.

"Do you mind?" I asked.

"Not at all." He leaned his ass on the desk and made himself comfortable. He raised his voice just slightly. "I was just talking to McCarty about-" He looked across the void between our cubicles, but the seat was empty.

_Lucky fucker had slipped out._

"Well, anyway. I'm going to need you to play wingman on this project I'm pitching this afternoon. I hope you took some time to work on it over the weekend. Let's see what ya got," he said."

_Please fire me. _

He grabbed my favorite pen from the cup on my desk, and began clicking it while I pressed the power button on my computer. The desktop lit up and all of the windows I had opened earlier – the Word doc with my writing, the screen grabs I'd captured – flashed on the screen. I hastily closed them all before he could see what was on them. I reminded myself to create a folder in which to store them all.

I pulled up the PowerPoint I'd thrown together on Saturday morning using the data we'd received late Friday afternoon. I'd prepared two versions and data sets, both of which were admittedly half-assed, but I knew Yorkie wouldn't necessarily know this. I talked my way through it while he nodded.

In the middle of explaining what I'd done, my BlackBerry buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, the display lit up indicating a photo message from Tanya. She'd recently gotten the idea that taking pictures of herself in suggestive poses in her office and sending them to me along with the list of "to do" items would somehow make them more palatable. Despite my protests that it was a work phone and that a picture of her tits might not be appropriate in a business setting, she'd continued to do it on a too-regular basis. I contemplated opening it and showing it to Yorkie, but ignored the message and didn't miss a beat explaining the concepts to him.

When I was done, he asked, "Which one do you like?"

I indicated option one, which the design team had been pretty excited about. I wasn't excited, but it wasn't shit, which was more than I could say for option two.

"Yeah? You think so? I'm thinking the second one. That's the big idea."

"Yorkie, that was your idea."

"Well, it was _our_ idea. There's no 'I' in 'team,' E." He laughed, like he was my first grade soccer coach.

_No, but there is a "fuck" and a "you" in "fuck you."_

He must've caught my look, because he seemed to feel obligated to give me a pep talk. "We're doing this together, right? _Mano a mano_. Ready for the game plan?"

My pocket vibrated again. This time I silenced it without a glance. "Hit me."

"I'll do the pre-mumble, then you can jump right in with the concepts – can you do your part in ten minutes or less?"

_Please fire me._

"Sure."

"Great. When McCarty gets back, have him put it together and make it pretty. I'll see you in thirty." I watched as he slipped my pen in his pocket and walked away.

I turned to face my desk, and saw Emmett back at his.

_Silent like a fucking ninja. _

He nodded his head toward the file in my hand. I shrugged my shoulders and flipped it across the aisle to him.

Figuring I had about twenty minutes before I needed to do anything, I fired up Google. I wondered if the term "mute" was politically correct as I typed it in. Other than a few links to, ironically, music sites, and a touching story I skipped entirely, it was a bust. I searched "sign language." I clicked frantically, circling the drain to the information I really wanted, and trying to stave off the feeling of obsession that surrounded my urge to cut to the chase now that I knew her name.

_Bella Swan_.

Now that I knew where she was, I couldn't stop thinking of what she might be doing. She wasn't around the corner, but she wasn't that far. My mind jumped to ways I could accidentally bump into her. If it meant I had to go visit Tanya's parents every weekend for the next month that would be fine by me.

I tried to reconcile the girl in the booth with the girl I'd met yesterday and found that it wasn't that hard to do. I replayed each stolen moment – her hands repeating Peter's words at the altar, the way she'd opened her mouth for communion, eyes closed. I felt guilty turning the act into a porno, but it reminded of another time I'd visited her.

When the screen had rolled up, she'd been chewing a piece of gum and pulled the wrapper out of her pocket to spit it out. She looked at the paper, then at me, grinned, blew a bubble and popped it. I watched her lips and jaw as they moved. She flattened the wrapper then licked her arm. Her tongue swept from the inside of her elbow to her wrist. My eyes drank her in, imagining the salty taste of her. She pressed the paper down and held it for just a second, then peeled it away to reveal a bluish imprint of a zebra.

My eyes closed on their own as the memory refused to fade and a wave of need ran across my body. I rubbed my eyes with both hands, then scrubbed at my face. I'd been keeping an eye on the email indicator in the periphery of my screen, pointedly ignoring it as the contents of my inbox swelled, until I saw a red flag come up from Emmett. I tore myself away to see what kind of problem he'd run into on "the big idea."

Filling my screen was a picture of a skinny cat wearing a tie and looking rather surly. Underneath was the caption: "Time to f*&kin' rook & roll, kthxbai."

I looked over to him and the bastard didn't even look up from his screen, just lifted his arm, and pointed to the imaginary watch on his wrist. I had two minutes to make it to the conference room.

After the meeting, I spent the balance of the morning searching for "Bella Swan." I was surprised at how many different Bella Swans there actually were, but tried to filter the results by the little bit I knew or could guess. Peter had said she was from New York. I guessed she was close to my age – somewhere between 20 and 25. She was a teacher at the American School for the Deaf.

_She was mute._

The fact stunned me less than the fact that she wasn't deaf. I worried that she might have misconstrued the few words I'd confessed to her on Sunday morning. She'd said she had "hope for me," whatever that meant. I thought through the possibilities of her intention.

_She hopes you can get over your need to visit sex shops._

_She hopes you figure out how to get back in touch with her._

_She hopes you touch her._

I decided to toss out the religion and focus on the getting in touch and touching part of her hopes.

I pulled up the website for the American School for the Deaf, and read up on the program. It was the oldest school for special education in the country, and apparently, quite prestigious. Her picture and bio were on the website. The information was innocuous, but I did a screen grab of her picture and saved it to my desktop. I clicked around on the school site and found the alphabet depicted in a series of hand gestures.

I focused on the letters in her name then practiced spelling it a few times, closing and opening my fist to mimic the figures on the screen. I liked the idea that I might simply spell her name with my hand under the table at a meeting when I was bored, or if someone was pissing me off. I also wondered what it would be like to jerk off to her name in my hand and my fucking dick twitched in agreement.

"Forget your meds today?" Emmett asked, laughing from his cube.

"Oh, this?" I showed him the letter "B" like an idiot, which was the one I was practicing. I compared my hand with the chart on the screen to see if I had it right. _Right hand up, fingers fully extended, thumb tucked into my palm._

"I'm – uh – I'm teaching myself sign language."

He raised his right hand, index finger and thumb extended, the other fingers closed toward his palm in the letter "L."

I nodded at him. "Yes. Good." And he slowly brought his hand to his forehead so I wouldn't misread his message.

_Loser._

I flipped him off, because I had that sign down pat – in fact, it was one of the most efficient ways to communicate across the office. That bird could fly from cube to cube all over the agency if the mood was right.

"So what's the deal?" he asked. "We get a new client that's deaf? It'll be a nice change from all of the blind one's we've got."

I laughed. Emmett was an art director, one of the best I'd ever worked with. He'd also become an expert at web design and his talents had practically turned him into a rock star. He was both admired and feared by clients and agency management, and he got away with a lot of shit because of it.

On the other hand, every client I had felt completely qualified to offer complete rewrites to the copy I wrote. The simple act of having gotten through eighth grade entitled them to think that they were master craftsman. They were wrong, of course, because there are words and then there are _words_. Strategically sublime phrases that enter the cultural lexicon.

_Think different._

_Just do it._

_Can you hear me now?_

Tag lines sang through my brain. They all seemed like messages.

"No, just something I always wanted to learn."

He cocked an eyebrow at me and went back to work on whatever brilliance I knew he was building on his screen.

I checked my emails to make sure there weren't any new emergencies, then went back to googling. I came full circle, and typed in "causes of muteness."

Wikipedia had a litany of answers for me. Deafness had been eliminated, and I quickly ruled out cognitive and developmental disorders as well.

_Aphonia, the inability to speak. _

I didn't know whether I liked that better, but it sounded more official and less judgmental. It described a condition that could be physiological or psychological in nature, but when I thought of the scar on her throat, I bet it was the former.

Just before lunch I checked emails again. Three emails from Tanya. One telling me she'd accepted a dinner invitation on Friday with some friends from college. One asking me what I wanted to for dinner. And another to let me know she'd given Newton my work email. Newton's email appeared just as I was about to go get a sandwich.

I clicked on it.

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** Mike Newton

**Subject: **Re: New Business Pitch

We've got a new offering we're going to launch next year and we're sending out requests for proposals to a few agencies. Want in?

The thought of working on an insurance account sounded so fucking boring, I almost had to stifle a yawn, but I sent him back a polite note.

**To:** Mike Newtown

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Subject: **Re: Re:New Business Pitch

Sure. Why not?

I hoped he would notice my lack of enthusiasm and look elsewhere for someone to come up with a campaign for said "new product."

When the response appeared almost instantly, I realized I should have been much more forthright about my lack of enthusiasm. It was too late to retract my previous message, so I decided to pretend I hadn't seen his most recent volley and opened a new email document.

**To:** Mike Newton

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Subject:** Come to think of it…

Don't take this personally, Newton, but in hindsight what I should have written in my previous note was that I would rather have lit matches shoved underneath my fingernails than spend even one second of my time on your fucking account.

Do you remember the project we were partnered on in Bio junior year? Do you remember that Banner had to pull me off of you before I beat you to a fucking pulp in the hallway? I mention this purely as a reminder that we have a poor history of working together.

This doesn't even begin to address the sheer torture of suffering through the highway traffic on the drive back and forth to Farthard, or the shit storm of grief I would get every week upon refusing Tanya's parent's kind invitation to join them for dinner, and the subsequent hell of rejecting my parent's insistence that I stay overnight and drive back to New York before dawn because they feel quite badly that they do not see me enough, even though I have repeatedly suggested to them that the highway works both ways and that they are more than welcome to come to New York any weekend, as long as they do not stage a surprise attack. In short, the mindfucking boredom of listening to anyone talk about insurance benefits – even if said person were to be standing in front of me wearing pasties, a thong and holding a riding crop – makes my blood run cold. The idea that I would willingly involve myself in an industry that profits from the suffering of others is so morally reprehensible that I cannot even begin to fathom the depths of misery I am sure I would experience as a result.

Thank you for thinking of me, though.

Edward

PS: I am leaving the office immediately and moving to Sweden.

PPS: Lest you think that I am an unfeeling prick, I recognize the enormous debt of gratitude I owe you for introducing me to the ten and two o'clock titties, the appearance of which injected a levity into my adolescence that it surely would otherwise have lacked.

I read the words back to myself, and laughed. If I strapped on a pair of balls, I could blow up my career and my marriage with the single push of a button. A little voice in my head said, _"Can you hear me now? Think different. Just do it."_

I thought of the commitments I'd made, my responsibility and blew out a breath and clicked "delete." A message appeared on the screen. _"Are you sure you want to delete this message?__"_ My hand halted over the keyboard for the briefest moment before I finished the destruction of a truly perfect chance at extricating myself from the fucked up situation I had gotten myself into.

And because I was a masochist, I opened Newton's email.

**To:** Edward Cullen

**From:** Mike Newton

**Subject: **Re: Re: Re: New Business Pitch

Great to hear. I will add you to the list. The RFP is going out tomorrow. We've got five potential agencies, but Tanya tells me that the work you're doing for the agency is aces and I've heard good things from a few others.

We're sponsoring a golf tournament at The Hartford Golf Club in a couple of weeks, and I'm putting together a foursome. I've already asked Father Peter. Can you snag someone from your team and join us? It'll be a good chance for you to meet some of the senior management on my side.

_Perfect._

If there was anything I found more boring than insurance, it was golf. I clicked the link and read the information in stunned disbelief: _Please join us for the 45__th__ Annual Hartford Charity Golf Outing to benefit the American School for the Deaf._

I immediately sent Emmett a meeting invite to come with me. I didn't know if he played golf, but if we were going to win the business – which was no longer optional – I needed him on the team. I knew Peter would like him, and, he'd be a nice balance to Newton and the inevitable conversation about benefits and deductibles and whatever the fuck.

An email from Emmett popped up noting that he had replied "Accepted" to my invitation. I glanced over at him and he gave me a thumbs-up without looking.

Yorkie wasn't in the office, so I sent him a note with the news. He sent me back an email that said "Awesome. Be back in an hour. Do we need freelance on this?"

I forwarded his response to Emmett, who responded almost immediately with a picture of a lol cat that said: "Duz we need a Freelancer?"

I took a screen capture of it and saved it to all the others I'd amassed during my morning's research.

The RFP came in the next day. After I reviewed it, I met with Yorkie and told him how the whole thing was going to go down. He wanted his fucking fingers all over the pitch, but this was my baby, the only way I could legitimize a trip to Hartford to visit Bella. I told him in no uncertain terms who I wanted on the team, and how I was putting the pitch together.

For the next two weeks, I worked like a fucking mad man. Yorkie was at my desk more times than I liked, making idiotic comments.

_What's the elevator pitch for the chairman? _

_We need a small, medium and a large idea._

_Make sure there's a blue sky. _

In between sharing the amazing designs he'd created to support each of the three concepts I'd prepared, Emmett sent me lol cats that fucking skewered Yorkie.

At some point I must have said my mantra out loud because my next email from Emmett was another lolcat with the caption "Pleez Fire Me." I flipped him off, and he congratulated me on the progress I was making with my sign language skills.

I thought of what it would feel like to explain my motivations to him. To unburden myself to someone. To make sure he knew how important winning this assignment was. Although, that was unnecessary; Emmett was never the weakest link.

I'd been practicing sign language at home, too. One night, Tanya was on her "girls' night out." I was in the second bedroom that Tanya allowed me to use as my office "until the baby comes," watching tutorials on YouTube in an attempt to verify that Peter hadn't been bullshitting me with his interpretation of Bella's words. I was practicing the motions, which had indeed been "hope," when Tanya walked in without knocking. After the panic of being caught subsided, I explained to her that I was doing research for the new business pitch.

"Oh, nice. Can you keep the Joe Cocker shit in here? Vic and Heidi are in the den and we're going to watch _The Real Housewives_." She didn't wait for a response and walked out.

As long as I was bringing in money and she could say I worked in a cool advertising agency, she was fine. My career was all about making her look good in front of her friends, and being successful. At this point, I didn't give a fuck as long as she left me alone. If she was suspicious about the sudden invasion of silent speech into my life, she didn't care. After she left, I signed _done_ to the closed door, then got up and locked it.

The day before the pitch, we gathered in the conference room to share our presentation with senior management. Yorkie repeated his favorite phrase. "So, Cullen. First you tell them what you're going to tell them. Then you tell them. Then you finish by telling them what you told them."

_Fucking genius._

I nodded without comment because the last thing I needed was for him to insist on taking over the meeting. I couldn't insist he not attend the pitch, but I needed to make sure he knew that I was in control.

We met at the fucking crack of dawn on Wednesday to make the two-hour drive. Yorkie was in a three-piece suit. I had on a jacket and tie, and Emmett had dressed conservatively, for him, in a button down and jeans with a leather vest. When I looked surprised, he showed me the t-shirt he wore underneath which said: "I am a bomb technician. If you see me running, try to keep up," and I felt myself relax. Lauren was wearing a tight black dress and high heels. Her hair was in a high ponytail – professional but hot. She was cute and had a body that went for days.

One thing that Yorkie was brilliant at was making sure the account service team looked the part. He cast them as much for their looks as experience. As much as the work we'd done, it was important that the prospective client like the team enough to have them around. Lauren looked sort of like Tanya, and I knew Mike would find her very attractive. I hadn't worked with her before, but she wasn't overly annoying, and she seemed to play the game as well as anyone. More importantly, she knew this was my and Emmett's show, and she kept her comments focused and productive.

We packed up the boards, and everything else we needed. I let Yorkie micromanage the organization of the trunk so he could feel important and when we were done, Emmett clapped his hands and said, "Time to rock and fucking roll."

Halfway there, Yorkie turned to Lauren and asked, "Do you have the dongle?"

Emmett guffawed from the back seat. "Yeah, baby, you got my dongle?"

"What the fuck is a 'dongle'?" I asked and looked into the rearview mirror. The look on Emmett's face was priceless. Lauren immediately produced a small white connector from her briefcase and held it up for me to see.

"It's an adapter to make sure the MacBook can attach to the projector," she said.

Emmett made a dirty joke.

She snarked back, "I should take you to Human Resources for that," which made him say something dirtier in response.

They both laughed. Yorkie looked at me from the passenger seat and frowned. "This is an _insurance _company we're pitching. Are you going to be able to control yourselves in this meeting?"

"Yorkie, I'm hurt," Emmett said. "You don't think I can do _conservative_?"

"Frankly, no," Yorkie responded.

For once I agreed and gave Emmett an apologetic look in the mirror. "At least for the pitch."

At the reception desk we produced identification, had our pictures taken and signed our lives away. We set up the room and just before the clients were scheduled to arrive in the room, Emmett leaned over to Lauren and said, "I bet I can say 'consumer confidence' ten times before this meeting is over."

She laughed like a pro and said, "I'm not taking that bet."

Even Yorkie snorted. We were relaxed. All systems go.

As I knew it would, the meeting went well. Lauren charmed the hell out everyone. She was smart but not a know-it-all: sexy but understated for the guys, smart but non-threatening to the women. Emmett was brilliant, as expected. Yorkie spoke more than I wanted him to, but he didn't say anything that might get us in to trouble.

When we were done, we got lots of handshakes and excited compliments. Mike stuck around after his peers left the room.

"Very nicely done, gentlemen. Ladies." He winked at Lauren. "On-strategy and very smart. I liked your reiteration of the importance of instilling consumer confidence."

Emmett elbowed Lauren in the ribs. She leaned away from him, a small hint of amusement on her face.

I gave Mike a firm handshake at the door. "You think we'll make the short list?"

"We're regrouping tomorrow to discuss everything we've seen. I'm not the only decision maker and I don't want to get your hopes up, but I think it'll be an easy choice."

Yorkie clapped me on the back and said, "Mike, this is the strongest team we've got at the agency, and you have my _personal_ assurance that this is just the tip of the iceberg of what we can offer."

Newton looked at him seriously and said, "Next round will be less formal, more of a meet and greet, but you realize that if you get the account, the team will have to be up here weekly for the foreseeable future?"

"The agency is prepared for the team to spend at least a day or two in Hartford beginning immediately." He looked at me for confirmation.

I grinned, and felt triumphant. "Whatever you need, Mike."

"Great, you'll hear from us by the end of the week with next steps." He turned to me. "Still on for golf next week?"

"Emmett and I are coming up Friday after work; we'll meet you at the club on Saturday morning."

"You bringing Tanya?"

I gave him a look. "No. I'm just up for the night."

When we got back to the car, the first words out of Yorkie's mouth were, "What's up with next weekend?"

"Emmett and I have been invited to play in Mike's foursome."

"I think I'd like to-"

"This is the ground floor, Eric. If we get the account, I'll get you on the greens with the CEO as often as you like. My father's his cardiologist."

Yorkie looked like he would burst with pride. "Very nicely played, Cullen. Very nice indeed."

* * *

My thumb automatically crept toward my palm as it made the letter "B."**A/N:** Please let us know what you think! We're very interested to hear. And a special thank you also to the lovelies at Fich00r Confessional who recommended "Pressed for Time," even though this chapter has **(lol)** "no sex, no touching, and no climax." You can find them here: http:/thefich00rconfessional (dot) com/2010/06/pressed-for-time-a-collaboration-of-chele681-twanza-smut-alert/


	3. 3

Disclaimer: SM's intellectual property rights are retained. Our intellect is questionable.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who is joining us for this little ride, and encourages us to drive fast. And especially to SweetDulcinea, and as ever and always to ElleCC for making sure we're staying on the right side of the street.

* * *

We went out for a few celebratory drinks when we got back to the city. Yorkie couldn't drink for shit and I wondered how he'd made it as far as he had in his career, considering the ability to drink copious amounts of alcohol and remain upright was practically a requirement in this business. He bailed after two rounds, and Lauren left soon after. Emmett watched her leave, then gave me a chin nod. "Think she's a player?"

"I think you shouldn't blow up this account before we've even won the fucking business."

"Management already, Eduardo?"

"Fuck you."

"You totally pwned today," he said and knocked back the rest of his drink. "It was sorta hot."

"Yeah?" I laughed.

We looked around the room. It was full of assholes in suits trying to hook up with girls in short black dresses. I'd already loosened my tie, but took it off entirely and stuffed it into the pocket of my jacket. Our glasses were empty, but I didn't feel like going home yet.

"Let's get out of here."

"Cullen, I don't date co-workers as a matter of principle, but I'm willing to make an exception for you."

"I'll keep that in mind if I get desperate."

We headed downtown. I sent Tanya a text from the cab, pretending we were still on the road, caught in traffic, and that I'd be late getting home. After we'd been at the bar for a while, I sent her another telling her that Yorkie was taking us out for drinks, and then another to let her know we were paying the bill. It started to get late, but there always seemed to be one more beer to finish. Many hours and too many pitchers later, I staggered out of the elevator to my apartment.

Tanya was watching TV and I could tell from the way she was sitting that she was annoyed.

"Long day at the office, dear?" she spat at me.

I repeated McCarty's phrase and laughed. "I pwned."

"Grow up, Edward."

I started toward the bedroom, rather than get into it with her.

"Mike called looking for you."

I stopped and looked at her. "When?" I flipped open my phone to see if I'd missed his call.

_Nada._

She clicked off the TV set and started picking imaginary lint off her sweater, which was what she did when she was pissed.

"He didn't call me. What'd he want?"

"He wanted to let you know that the business is yours if you want it."

I couldn't stop the grin that spread across my face. "Nice."

"Why didn't you tell me about the golf tournament next weekend?"

"Because – I don't know – because golf is not the topmost thing on my mind. I'm only going for a night."

"When the baby comes you're not going to be able to simply pick up and go whenever you want."

"What the fuck? This is for work. You're not even pregnant."

"We've been married for three years," she said, finally looking at me. "My sisters' kids are going to be so much older than mine."

"I didn't know it was a competition."

"If you bring in new business, you should get a piece of it. If the company doesn't appreciate what you're doing for them, you should take Mike's account and -"

"Tanya, I just walked in the fucking door."

"Victoria's husband is already a VP and Heidi's fiancé just made junior partner at -"

"Maybe you should marry Heidi's fiancé. You have a much nicer ass and I'm pretty sure he'd be willing to be convinced. In fact..." I flipped open my phone again and scrolled to his name. "Here's his number, I'm forwarding it to you."

"You're an asshole when you're drunk."

"You're an asshole when you're not drunk."

An hour later, I was in a cab heading to Emmett's with a suitcase stuffed with my shit.

-o0o-

I'd never actually been inside Emmett's apartment before. He opened the door in boxers and a t-shirt and admitted me without a word. He pointed me toward the couch. The apartment was dark but seemed neat. I set my bag on the floor and sank into the couch. My head felt heavy in my hands, thoughts a blur from too much alcohol and glaring reality. Emmett disappeared down a hallway, and returned with a pillow and a thick patchwork quilt, which he tossed next to me unceremoniously. They smelled like cedar.

I acknowledged him with a grunt of thanks, slipped off my shoes and jacket and set them in a heap next to my suitcase on the floor.

"Try not to make too much noise in the morning. Rose likes to sleep in." With that he wandered back down the hall.

Not bothering to change, I pulled the blanket over me and was asleep before my head hit the pillow.

I woke up to the intense gaze of deep blue eyes and the smell of tuna. Emmett's cat had taken residence on my chest at some point in the night, and all those children's fables about cats stealing your breath seemed a little more credible. I picked her up and set her on the floor so I could get up and look for the bathroom. She looked extremely putout. When Emmett walked into the room a moment later, she slinked over to him and rubbed against his legs. He picked her up and they nuzzled each other for a second. When they were done, I felt like I'd intruded on their privacy.

Emmett said, "If you're going to crash here, you may want to put your head at the other end. That's where Rose likes to sit and watch TV." Rose looked at me in accusation.

"Oh," I said. "Thanks." I meant it for more than just the advice, but didn't elaborate.

"And you're on litter box duty for the duration of your stay."

"It's cool, speaking of which – bathroom?"

"Second door on the left. You can start earning your keep while you're in there."

When I came back, Rose was sitting on my pillow. I laughed when I checked to see what she was watching, because it really did look like she knew what was going on. Emmett went to take a shower, and I sat on the couch next to Rose, drank a cup of coffee, and watched part of an episode of _Rescue Me._

Emmett came out in a towel, rubbing at his hair with another. "Hurry up, Princess. Train takes twenty minutes door to door."

_Same old, same old._

Despite the upheaval, I still had a meeting with Yorkie at 9:15. Emmett's apartment was further south than mine and we had to make a cross-town connection. I'd either have to start getting ready earlier, or I'd have to be prepared with a better reason for being late.

Emmett and I fell into a routine more rapidly than I expected. He never pried into my sudden appearance at his door that night, nor did he ask how long I would be staying. In return, I never unpacked my suitcase, and I stored the blanket and pillow in the closet each morning to make it seem like I was never there. In fact, if it weren't for the downy coating of white fur that blanketed my possessions, I might have wondered as well.

We put in so many hours prepping campaigns for the first presentation to Newton's team, the one which we were now being paid a hefty monthly retainer for, that there was little time to spend dwelling on the legitimacy of my plan to connect with Bella. If it occurred to me to question whether she would be happy to see me again when I found her, I quickly squashed that thought in favor of reveling in the newfound burst of creativity she had ignited in me.

I was writing round the clock. The strategic concepts I'd developed for the new account were tight. I knew they were some of the best I'd ever put together. Fortunately, Emmett's team agreed, so I felt less egotistical about my work. Sometime after ten p.m. and before six a.m., I'd lie on the couch, Rose at my feet, and document every moment that Bella and I had spent together on our respective sides of the glass. I wondered what might've happened if I'd just backpacked across Europe instead of finishing college. I wrote until the words came by themselves, desperate to create another reality entirely. Not where possibilities were endless, but where I actually believed I might make one happen. One where I'd had the courage and inspiration to have lived a different life.

I hated the idea of keeping a journal – of the constant introspection – but somehow writing about Bella seemed to give me a more objective view on things. It was me, but it wasn't. I felt freer with words, less judgmental. I stopped editing in my head. I didn't know exactly where the flow of words would lead, and stopped working toward the end. For the first time, being in the middle and headed toward the unknown felt okay.

I typed her name onto the keyboard, felt the press of my fingers at the same time that the letters appeared on screen. _"Bella Swan." _ I'd caught myself saying it at work a few times, whispering it under my breath almost unconsciously. I read it out loud into the room, enthralled by the feel of her name in my mouth. Rose caught me doing it and gave me a look.

While I found the formality of it disconcerting, I used her full name because she still wasn't entirely real and tangible to me yet. Despite the level of intimacy I'd felt with her, under the circumstances, I'd accepted the distance of not knowing her name. At first, it was natural, as I was unwilling to even admit to myself that she existed, until after she disappeared and I thought of her as "The Girl." But now she was Bella Swan. The leap from one name to the other twisted my stomach.

The Girl was punk rock and sensuality, untouchable soft curves and desperation. Bella Swan was strength and perseverance, sweaters and the scent of spring morning. Only their eyes and the knowing smile that spoke of experience which far outweighed mine told me they were the same girl. I needed more of them, more of her. I needed to hold her in my arms and push all these pieces of her together until I'd earned the right to call her by her name with familiarity.

First, I needed opportunity, and so I flowed my energy into creating chances to see her, and into learning a way to communicate with her while I did.

Yorkie and I continued to bump heads on the project. We had what was politely called a "creative difference," but what was, in the fact, the issue that his ideas were shit, impractical and doomed to failure.

On Monday morning, after Emmett and I had spent a large portion of the weekend working on the mock-ups for the account, Yorkie pulled me into his office, which was actually just a cube with higher walls than the rest of us had.

"I've got it, E, the big idea."

_Please fire me._

"Yorkie, we're already halfway through, and the client's given us the go-ahead to work on two."

"That's because they haven't seen this."

He proceeded to describe the "big idea," which was so ridiculous I wasn't sure if he was trying to sabotage the project, or if he really was that obtuse.

I opened my mouth to protest, but heard Emmett's voice behind me before I could start the rant that certainly would have ended my career.

"That's a _great_ idea, Yorkie, why don't you just hand over your data, and E and I will get started on it right away?"

Yorkie puffed up with pride and handed the folder to Emmett. I followed him, pissed and confused, back to his desk and watched as he threw the folder in his bottom drawer.

"Carry on, Cullen."

A few minutes later, Emmett shot me an email with a graphic for Yorkie's design. It was hideous and brilliant. I generated a bogus spreadsheet to accompany it, keeping the windows open in the background, and alt-tabbed them up whenever Yorkie came by.

Between the work on the dummy campaign, the work on the real one, and my fumbling attempts to learn ASL, the week flew by.

-o0o-

Emmett and I met my parents for dinner at the club on Friday night.

The evening started in the library with a brief toast from the president of the school, who invited us to meander to the women's dining room to check out the silent auction. After giving a brief overview of the items available to bid on, he encouraged us to drink as much as necessary to open up our hearts and checkbooks.

We roamed the room and I watched as both Emmett and my mother alternately laughed then signed their names to a staggering array of items. My father stood at the bar with a few friends, certain that my mother would spend as much money as required. I felt guilty and wandered around the tables set up on the periphery of the room and flipped through the clip pads to see the obscene amounts of money people might pay for an ugly painting, or a session with a dog psychic.

At one table, I noticed a framed picture of a hand in supplication. I glanced at the description and got a knot in my stomach.

"_American Sign Language Tutorial: Five hours of one-on-one instruction with Bella Swan, __Director of Community Sign Language Instruction__ at the American School for the Deaf. Value: $250."_

There were a few bids, each ten dollars more than the last. I loitered by the table until they called us in for dinner, signed my name and wrote down the largest sum I could manage, then followed my father when he cocked his head at me.

My mother openly flirted with Emmett, which oddly, didn't faze my father in the slightest. In fact, he seemed quite smitten too. Other than the fact that I had to excuse myself to check on my bid each time someone visited the room where the silent auction items were housed, dinner seemed to go pretty fucking smoothly considering that I hadn't had more than a couple of phone calls with my parents since informing them that Tanya and I had separated.

"So, Emmett, you play golf?"

"No, sir, I do not. I'm here purely to provide moral support for Edward."

My father raised his eyebrows and laughed.

"And you, Doctor?"

"I find it a nice way to pass a sunny day."

My mother snorted.

"And you, Mrs. Doctor?"

She held back the "tsk" I surely would have received had I asked her a question with that level of cockiness. "Please call me 'Esme,' and no. I categorically do not play golf."

I fell into a satisfied complacency that my overnight stay with them wouldn't be too unpleasant. I knew the conversation about Tanya was waiting for me when we got back to the house, but for the moment everyone was on their best behavior. In fact, dinner was going so smoothly I didn't even really have to speak.

After dinner, the chairman of the event asked us to check on the final bids and make sure that we left checks and contact information if we were winners.

Having tripled the lowest bid on the lessons, I won easily, and stood in line behind my mother and Emmett as we waited to settle our respective tabs. When it was Emmett's turn at the table, I asked what he bought.

He looked at me sheepishly and showed me the piece of paper with the information.

"One hour session with Psychic Irina, pet communicator."

I smirked then glanced at his bid.

_A thousand bucks. Fuck me._

I'd only dropped half that on five hours with Bella. I did the math. The time I'd just bought seemed vast, while the amount I'd bid was inexcusably low. Guilt rang through me like a motherfucking locomotive. A thousand thoughts banged in my head comparing the fucking hourly rate I would have spent to watch her in her box, to the amount I made, to the rate of the fucking freelancer, to imagining that she made little of the almost $500 an hour price the shop got for her time.

At the last moment, I doubled the donation amount, desperate to make this time worth monetarily as much as the previous times we'd spent together. The woman handed me my receipt, thanked me for supporting the school with a brilliant smile, and reminded me that fifteen percent of my donation was tax deductible. I blinked in astonishment and realized I was certifiable. I didn't even know if I had the balls to call her and schedule the lessons, never mind write it off at the end of the year.

Emmett was saying goodbye to my mother and father when I met them at the exit. I needed to get the conversation with my parents over with, and he was pissed when I took him straight to the hotel, rather than expose him to the practically non-existent nightlife of the town.

"I'll pick you up at six a.m."

"What the fuuuhhck," he whined. "It's not even worth going to bed. Make it seven."

"The convocation is at six-thirty."

"You say the dirtiest things, Cullen."

"Get out of the car, asshole. I don't want to be late for my lecturing."

"A tongue-lashing from Esme? I'd bid on that." I almost said something about the pet psychic, but Emmett slammed the car door and immediately started talking to one of the bellhops as if he'd known him his entire fucking life. He was like the mayor.

I headed back to my parents', but arrived much quicker than I'd liked and didn't have my speech prepared. I pulled into the driveway, hoping they'd gone to bed, but found them exactly where I knew they'd be: waiting on the couch in the living room.

"Thank you for dinner," I said, and gave my mother the smile she usually fell for, hoping that politeness and humility would cut me some slack.

She squinted her eyes and looked right through me. "Edward, I _simply_ don't understand," she said, on my case immediately, which put me instantly on the defensive.

"There's nothing to _understand,_ Mom. It _is_ what it _is_."

She took a deep breath, inspected her manicure, wiggled her fingers, clasped her hands together, brought them to her mouth, then turned to my father and gave him the "Can you please handle your son?" look I was all too familiar with.

"Don't give him the look. I'm not an infant."

On cue, my father said, "There's no need to go on the defensive, son."

"I'm not _on_ the defensive_,_" I yelled.

My cell phone beeped with a text alert. I knew it would set my father off, but I checked it anyway to make sure it wasn't Newton with changes to the tee time.

It was from Emmett. _"Whatever you do, don't go on the defensive."_

I snapped it shut, closed my eyes, shoved the phone into my front pocket and pinched the bridge of my nose. I took a deep breath and looked at my parents, and decided the only way to do this was just to suck it up and let them get it off their chests.

"Okay, I'm sorry," I sighed. "I know this came as a surprise, but it's been a very difficult situation for both of us for a long time. I'm sorry I didn't tell you -"

"I just wish you would have told us yourself," my mother said.

"What are you talking about? You were the first person I called."

"To have heard it from Tanya's parents was dismaying, to say the least," my father said uncomfortably.

I looked at both of them, not comprehending, and held out my hands in a gesture of supplication. I remembered the photo from the auction, and shoved my hands in my front pockets. "I called you the morning after it happened. What more -"

"Your father and I are not _dinosaurs_," she said. "I just don't understand why you felt you couldn't be honest with us."

"I've been _honest _with -"

"I think what your mother is trying to say, Edward, is that – no matter..." He scrunched up his face and rubbed his hand over it in discomfort, then forced his words out fast. "What she's trying to say is that we will always love you – no matter what your sexual orientation might be."

"My WHAT?" I yelled, fucking panicked at what they might know about my sexual anything.

"Emmett seems like a very nice fellow," my mother said encouragingly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" I struggled to grasp what they were saying.

My father gave me his disappointed look. "It's just too bad that it had to take this course."

I felt the guffaw leap into my mouth from my stomach, but didn't want to be rude or insensitive. I knew I had to say something, but started out more accusatory than I meant to sound: "Are you insinuating that _I_ – that _we _– that I'm _with_ –" but couldn't get the rest of the words out because all I could hear was the word _fellow_. I mashed my lips together and looked down at the ground to keep my laughter in check, cognizant that I was repeating my father's face-scrubbing gesture of a moment before.

My mother stood and wrapped her arms around me, clearly misunderstanding my gesture. "Oh, sweetheart," she cooed. "Tanya already explained everything to us and we are completely supportive. Aren't we, Carlisle?"

I snapped my head up at this new development. Both of them were looking at me with very round, very sympathetic eyes, although my father looked slightly less supportive than my mother did. The expression on his face was fucking epic, and if it hadn't been directed at me, I would have pointed it out to him in a heartbeat.

"Are you _serious?_" I made a ridiculous karate chop gesture in the air for emphasis. "I'm not – Mom, Tanya is full of _shit_. I'm not -" I stuttered, trying hard not to laugh at their earnestness and concern.

"She warned us that you were having a hard time with it."

I forced myself to be serious, but the effort only focused me on the hilarity of the situation. "I'm not gay," I said with a straight face, then immediately laughed out loud. The idea that Tanya would have planted this seed of doubt was so fucking perfect, and so fucking sad.

_And hilarious._

I bit down on my lips to stop myself from smiling inappropriately, then covered my grin with my hand when I couldn't. My father looked at me like I was having a nervous breakdown. My mother opened her mouth to say something else, but my father shook his head at her. "Leave it alone, Esme."

I blew out a breath to try and get myself together. "Mom. Dad. I'm not gay," I said. I felt obligated to add, "And while there is absolutely nothing wrong with being gay, I'm – I'm just not." I broke into fits all over again.

My father stood and put his hand on my shoulder. "It's late and you are clearly very upset. There is plenty of time for this discussion. It's been a long night and I think we should all get some rest."

I found myself unable to respond for fear I would burst out laughing again, so I simply nodded.

"Goodnight, honey," my father said and gave me a warm hug. "When you are ready to talk, we will be ready to listen."

_Honey._

My father was a fucking sweetheart, but I barked out a laugh at the familiar endearment.

My mother seemed to accept the end of the conversation like a good sport. "Your father's right, we can discuss this later." She stood on tiptoes, kissed me on the cheek and whispered, "_Emmett is very handsome, darling. Well done." _She gave me a long look before following my father toward their bedroom.

"I'll be gone before dawn!" I yelled inanely, "and there's nothing to _discuss_."

Without a glance back, my mother instructed me to leave the hall light on for Jasper.

I watched as they walked out of the room. In spite of the confusion, I felt incredibly fortunate to have them as parents. It would be worse when they realized that Tanya and I were breaking up over nothing more than simple incompatibility. I wondered, if I described to my father the way he'd put his arm around my mother's shoulder and flipped off the kitchen light, if I could make him understand. My parents were completely in sync. Even when they fought there were boundaries they just didn't cross because they were friends and respected each other. Not once in all the time we'd been married had Tanya and I simply gone to bed without some kind of confrontation about whose turn it was to do something, or one of us trying to convince the other about priorities.

I pulled out my phone and keyed in an angry text to Tanya, then edited it like it was a piece of fucking copy. I read it a few times and decided it wasn't worth the anxiety. At this point, lashing out at her was ridiculous, another argument we didn't need to have; it was beside the point, wouldn't make me feel better, and would give her ammunition that she'd absolutely use to her advantage. I imagined her forwarding the text from me that said, "I can't believe you told my parents I'm gay," to everyone she knew.

I ran through the evening and imagined what my parents must have thought during dinner. My stomach hurt from laughing and I sat on the couch. I leaned forward onto the coffee table to collect myself, and the sensation of glass against my palms shocked me into silence. I ran my hands back and forth over the smooth, cool surface. In the instant I realized I was molesting my mother's furniture, my brother walked in from wherever he'd been and laughed.

I sat up straight.

"Finally out of the closet! Congrats."

I snorted and shook my head.

"Aw, _fuck._ I knew it was too good to be true."

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"The Doctor and the Missus are completely distracted by it."

I raised an eyebrow at him.

He shook his head sadly. "Wouldja consider lettin' it ride for a little while – for _me_?" he asked, flashing the sweetheart eyes that made our parents forgive him everything.

"Are you fucking high?"

"Awww, Eddie. I'm hurt," he whined, then winked at me before continuing into the kitchen.

"Lose the dumbass accent, Jerk Off," I said, picking up the banter we amused each other with.

"Go fuck yourself, Pretty Boy," he responded.

I snorted and turned on the TV. I heard him foraging in the freezer for something to eat before the microwave breathed into life.

Jasper came back with a plate of microwaved pizza rolls and crashed onto the couch next to me. The downward force of his body knocked me around and I gave him a backhand smack in the chest for being an idiot. He ignored me, stuffed one of the rolls into his mouth and said something that sounded vaguely like, "hothotholyfuhhckhot."

I was very familiar with the thermonuclear property of microwaved frozen food, especially now that I was staying with Emmett.

"Ahhrouhhhnd in the -" Jasper sucked in a breath, "mohhrning?" he asked, mouth open in an attempt to deal with the heat.

"Tee off's at seven." I handed him the remote and pushed off the couch.

"Jesuhhs," he mumbled, chewing and inhaling at the same time. "I thouhght youh hatehd gohhhlf."

"I do," I sighed and went to bed.

-o0o-

Father Peter stepped up to the head table to start the day with a quick blessing of the breakfast buffet. He was wearing a golf shirt and looking for all the world like every other bastard in attendance. He focused and the room got silent.

"In the name of the father..."

We all made the sign of the cross and listened respectfully.

"I take my role in this community very seriously," he said, looking around the room. His eyes were kind, but penetrating. Whether it was intentional or accidental, the personal discomfort of having his focus land on you was very real. "I pray you all take comfort in the fortune that has been bestowed upon you, that you never take the opportunity to do good for granted, and that you make an effort to share your gifts, in whatever capacity, with those in need."

I watched as he surveyed the room, then rested his eyes on my father.

"Unfortunately for me, my gifts do not include a perfect swing. In consideration of the fact that I find it impossible to keep my head down, I have received papal dispensation to meet with Dr. Cullen at the Nineteenth Hole every other Saturday to discuss technique. My twenty-two handicap remains intact, but I am grateful for his constant reminder that golf is the perfect thing to do on Sunday because one always ends up having to pray a lot."

Peter smirked at my father, who toasted him with a bloody mary. "See you in hell, Pete."

The room erupted into uproarious laughter. Emmett leaned over to me and said, "Dude, the Doctor's motherfucking Chuck Norris. What the shit happened to you?"

"Fuck if I know." I shrugged and took a drink of my own bloody. I glanced at my father.

_I had to admit it. Carlisle was pretty fucking hardcore when he wanted to be._

I laughed and my father looked over at me from his table. I raised my glass and he returned the salute.

The nervousness from the crowd was palpable. Peter continued, undeterred. "In conclusion, I'd like to remind you all that confession is held every Saturday from 4:30 – 5:30 p.m." He paused for just a moment, then continued in a different tone. "It's come to be expected that I kick the tournament off with a story. I believe humor is a sign of God's acceptance of our humanity, and in celebration of the glorious day he has sent to us, I'd like to share a joke."

The room got quiet, and Father Peter started:

"A priest and a nun were taking a rare afternoon off to enjoy a round of golf…"

Bella Swan entered the room and stepped up next to him to translate his words.

_She's here. _

I had hoped she would be – had imagined her in every way over the previous weeks, and yet the reality of her left me stunned.

Her hands moved like brushes painting pictures in the air. A downward shake of her wrist made me smell fresh mowed grass. Her arm swept in an upward arc, and I felt breeze in the blue sky. My awareness condensed to encompass only the movements of her body: graceful and defined. I ached to breathe her in again, for the taste of her tongue and the feel of her hands against my skin. I wanted to silence the clock which had always been the enemy of my time with her.

Her movements faltered. I looked up from her hands to her face and saw her surprise as she took me in. She quickly recovered, turning her attention back to Peter to recapture the thread of his speech, but I knew I'd had an effect on her, which made the distance between us almost impossible to deal with.

I looked around the room to get a hold of myself and noticed that every fucking guy in the room was watching her too. With that realization, I gripped the seat of my chair to stop myself from crossing the room and yanking her off the stage.

_I couldn't have her on display – not again – not even for me._

I didn't hear anything Peter was saying. Whatever joke he was telling was interminable and I waited impatiently for him to stop so Bella could leave. I got pulled back into reality when Emmett shoved me hard and said, _"_Shit, I missed."

"Huh?"

"Shit, I missed. You didn't get it?"

"Get what?"

"The end of the joke," he said.

I ignored him and watched Bella leave the room.

"Excuse me," I said and started to get up so I could follow her, but Peter pulled up a chair and sat down next to me.

"How'd I do?"

**-o0o-**

As we played the last few holes, storm clouds appeared on the horizon. At the first tee, I was impressed that Emmett might be able to beat my long drive, but as we played through the next few holes, I realized he was playing home-run derby. By the time we got to the 16th hole, our par was so astronomical that I was just whacking at balls trying to get the game over as quickly as possible. I knew Bella was here, somewhere, and every moment spent dithering on a sport I loathed was time stolen from her.

_The fucking clock was ticking._

As we reached the green at the 18th hole, the storm clouds that had been threatening were dark and overhead. Thunder rumbled. Newton crouched down and made a big fucking show as he assessed the angle, got up, walked to a different spot, crouched, assessed, stood, and repeated the whole thing three times.

My father's warning rang in my ear. _"If you can see it, flee it; if you can hear it, clear it."_

When we finally finished the game, Newton was the clear winner, which he was happy to flaunt. In the midst of the clank and crash of our bags and clubs as we stowed them in the back of the cart, my thoughts on Bella Swan and where she might be at this very minute, I heard him say, "Sorry to hear about the break-up."

"Yeah," I said, absently, my mind on how I could get her alone.

"I was wondering, though, if I could have your blessing to date your wife?"

Peter said, "Are you fucking shittin' me, Mike?" in a very _unpriestly_ way.

"What?" I asked, stunned.

He hesitated, but only for a second. "I was thinking since -"

"We've only been separated for _two weeks_, you asshole."

"I know, but considering the circumstance..." He nodded his head meaningfully at Emmett and cocked his eyebrow.

I stared at him, caught somewhere between rage and hysteria.

"C'mon. Everyone knows what's been going on," he continued.

I clenched my fists and Emmett sidled over to me and whispered, "Play nice with the little client, Cullen." It occurred to me that I should tell him exactly what Newton was alluding to and let him play nice with the little client, but stopped myself.

"It's not like you're getting divorced for the normal reasons, so I figured it would be okay as long as I asked first."

It then occurred to me that I should just beat him into the turf, but Peter put his arm on my shoulder and said, "Why don't you ride with me back to the club?" He looked at Newton. "Can I trust you alone with Mr. McCarty for a few seconds?"

As we drove up the embankment to the sponsor tent, Peter said, "What did Newton mean when he said 'considering the circumstance'?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ," I said, then apologized.

Peter shrugged. "Happens."

"Somehow my parents, and most of the town, are under the impression that I am – um – embracing an – uh – alternative lifestyle. I'm surprised you hadn't heard."

"You're gay?" Peter asked, pretty fucking loudly for someone who had made a solemn vow to keep people's innermost secrets confidential.

"No, but Tanya told my parents I am. I don't know who else she told, but clearly Newton is very excited to have me out of the picture."

"Why _have _you and Tanya separated?"

We were standing just outside the main tent; Newton and Emmett were handing off their cart while other players came and went. "Don't take this the wrong way, Peter, but confessing in front of my potential associates, a few old school friends, and half of the doctors in my father's practice just isn't all that appealing to me at the moment."

"Fair enough. I'll be seeing you at four-thirty then."

"Wow. That sounds fantastic, Father, but I can't make it today," I said, trying to come up with a plausible reason why I was never fucking going to confession again. Emmett strolled up to us, and my excuse suddenly appeared. "I have to get Emmett back for Rose. Too bad."

"What's 'too bad'? What's going on with Rose?" he asked with concern.

I shook my head sadly, "I was just telling Father Peter that we had to get back to the City to take care of her."

Emmett nodded seriously and looked at his watch. "Yeah, she's expecting me."

Peter looked at him with admiration. I hoped he thought Rose was Emmett's great aunt or something and interpreted the lie as kindness.

"I can't force you into it, Edward, but you'll find it does a world of good to put your shit out on the table. Let it go, man. You'll feel better. Which church do you attend in Manhattan?"

I grasped around for an answer, not willing for some reason to admit that I didn't go to church, and thought of the church that had been turned into a club that was down the street from Emmett's. "St. Anthony & Patrick," I said, adding to the lie. It actually made sense for me to confess, but I didn't know whether I had the stones to do it.

"You go to the A&P? I thought they closed that one a few years ago?" he asked, and cocked an eyebrow at me.

"Well, I used to – now I just go to St. Patrick's."

He nodded and frowned, but dropped the subject. We headed to an empty table for a round before Emmett and I headed back to New York. He _was_ justifiably nervous about leaving Rose home alone for too long. When she got lonely, she ripped his apartment to shreds.

I scanned the tent for signs of Bella Swan but didn't see her anywhere. I considered asking Peter, but decided against opening the door to another round of inquiry.

On the way to the rental car, Emmett wanted to stop at a table to pick up a goodie bag. The girl manning the table had her back to us, meticulously combining the contents of each canvas tote. I recognized the fluid movements of her body even before I saw the pattern of freckles that ran along her shoulder near the strap of her sundress. My fingers began signing the letters of her name unconsciously, and when we got to the table I said it out loud, "Bella Swan." She looked at me and blushed. I swallowed and signed "Hello."

She handed each of us a canvas bag. Emmett squinted at me and then signed something to her, too. She laughed and swapped his bag for another.

There was a steady line of people behind us, jostling for the freebies, so we stepped aside. When we were out of earshot, I asked him what he'd said to her.

"I asked her for an XXL shirt."

"You know sign language?"

He shrugged. "I figured it might come in handy. They say it works on pets, too."

"You're going to teach Rose sign language?"

"I want to know what she's thinking."

I smirked at him. "She thinks you're an idiot."

"Seriously? You think she thinks that?" he asked seriously.

"Yeah, seriously. I think she has you fucking pussy whipped." I laughed just as the heavens opened up and rain started pouring down in buckets.

I looked back toward Bella. Everyone was running for cover from the weather and she was alone, scrambling to put everything away. The wind pulled at the stakes that anchored the tents to the ground. I ran back to her and silently helped her throw the bags into boxes. We ran back to the club, and I followed her to the coat closet off the main entrance. I looked at her. I closed the distance between us. We were both sopping wet, and her clothes stuck to her small frame. I stared at her tits, then forced my eyes back to her face. She smiled at me in discomfort and stepped back.

_Here we are in another fucking box._

"Do you – can I drive you somewhere?"

She assessed me for a minute and nodded yes.

* * *

A/N: Get in the car! Put on your seatbelt. Edward is driving.


	4. 4

**Disclaimer:** SM's intellectual property rights are retained. Our intellect is questionable.

**A/N:** Thank you to everyone who is reading, and for your incredible comments and reviews. Much love and thanks to ElleCC who lols with us (or maybe at us) and makes us swoon.

* * *

She followed me through the downpour. I opened the passenger side door for her and Emmett ceremoniously climbed into the back. After an embarrassing game of charades, we guessed that she lived on campus at the school. I pulled out of the parking lot and decided to drop him at the hotel first.

Halfway there, the water started hitting the windshield in sheets. I couldn't see a fucking thing and slowed to a crawl. Feeling around for the wipers, I accidentally flashed the high beams a few times. By the time I finally figured out the set-up on the steering wheel, the inside window had fogged up. In addition to the torrential rain and the unfamiliarity of the rental car, the girl that haunted most of my waking hours was sitting next to me. I glanced over and noticed pert nipples poking through her wet white t-shirt. Not only could I not see, it became almost completely impossible for me to keep my eyes on the road. The possibility of her was beyond distracting.

I pulled to the curb to avoid killing us all.

Once the car was stopped, I glanced at her for what must have seemed like the hundredth time. She had goose pimples on her arms under a sheen of wetness. I cranked the fan to the highest setting and turned on the defogger. A stale gust of cold air shot out of the vent. She smiled at me then shivered. My hand jerked, and I forced myself to wipe the inside of the window instead of reaching to touch her. The skin of my hand made a squeaking noise across the glass, which reminded me of the condensation of her breath. I looked at her. She looked at me. I glanced away and watched a drop of water shudder and release toward the dashboard. My dick twitched, and I shifted in my seat.

The window fogged up again.

Emmett leaned into the front and changed the setting from hot to cold. "Didn't you study meteorology in high school, Duardo? You're going to cause a thunderstorm in the front seat." He sat back and put his hands behind his head. I caught his eye in the rearview mirror and cocked an eyebrow at him in warning. He winked at me in amusement.

I glanced at her and she smiled awkwardly then bit her lip. I didn't know what to say. The rain on the roof and the rush of the fan were the only sounds in the car. I pulled at the lever for the windshield washer and a stream of cleaning fluid hit the front window. It was immediately obliterated, first by the rain and then by the wipers. Emmett snorted, and I looked at him again. The back window was all fucked up, too. I pressed the rear defogger and the little light went on.

Emmett guffawed from the back seat. "There are still a few buttons you haven't pushed yet. Have you tried popping the trunk?"

I glared at him with _"Fuck you" _eyes. He stared back with a "_What the fuck?_" look.

We sat for a while longer. If anything, the rain seemed to come down harder, while the quiet grew increasingly uncomfortable. We were parked in front of a historic building and I thought about pointing it out to break the silence, but decided not to make a bigger ass of myself. I turned to her, but didn't know what to say. She smiled at me, waiting. The heat in the car was now oppressive and her cheeks were flushed. I could practically feel the pulsing of the blood under her skin. I looked at Emmett, who seemed to have passed out in the back. I laughed. She turned sideways in her seat to see what was funny, then looked at me and grinned.

I turned my body to face her and leaned against the seat. She bit her lip again, which made me lick mine. She looked at my mouth and blinked. I saw the outline of her bra underneath her wet t-shirt. I had to look away quickly but it seemed to me that it was powder blue with lace. I swallowed and focused on her face. Her eyes were dark and her lips parted as if she was about to speak – almost as if she'd forgotten she couldn't – then blushed on top of her flush. She fluttered her hand to her neck. Her nervousness made me bold.

"I'm glad you're here," I said. My voice came out too loud. I felt foolish, and I didn't want to wake Emmett up. "Well, not _here _here – not here in the car, although I'm happy to have you in the car. I don't mean _have_ you –" I stopped myself and took a breath. The comment hadn't actually sounded offensive until I started defending myself against it. I tried to collect my thoughts, but it took me a moment to shift my mind from the image of her on my lap to what I wanted to tell her.

"What I mean to say is that I'm – I'm very glad that you exist."

Too many words were coming out of my mouth, each of them more woefully inadequate than the next. I sounded like a horny, awkward teenager.

_No, worse. A horny, awkward, existential teenager_.

She nodded her head then dug her pad out of her bag. I watched her write. The way she held the pen, crabbed in her hand, pressed against her ring finger, was not the way the nuns had taught us. I read her words.

"_Who are you talking to? This me or the other me?"_

This surprised me. I pointed at the pad and paper so I could respond, then remembered I could talk.

"To you – just you."

She cocked her head, pursed her lips and wrote some more. I read her words upside down as they appeared on the page.

"_This is weird, though, right?"_

I nodded. "It's weird, but not – it's not _that_ weird."

She raised an eyebrow at me.

I laughed. "Okay, it's very weird."

"_They're both me. Just so you know."_

I wanted to kiss her and leaned in. She pulled back and started writing some more, then turned the pad around for me to look at and grinned. Instead of words, she'd drawn a hangman game with spaces for a five-letter word. I smirked back at her. We had done playful before; I could do playful with her.

And she had no idea that I was the best hangman player she had ever met.

My first strategy was to force out a few consonants to get the shape of the word. "R," I said, sounding like a pirate. I cringed, but she grinned, shook her head and drew a head at the end of the noose. She wrote the letter down below the scaffolding.

"L?"

She smirked and drew a neck beneath the head. Then wrote the letter next to the "R." I nervously abandoned my plan and figured I had a better chance of getting a vowel. I made the sign for the letter with my hand, because I had that shit down. A fist with my thumb tucked in. "E."

She added the letter to the collection she had going, and drew an arm to the rapidly growing stick-figure.

"A?" It sounded more like a plea than a guess. She wrote the letter in the third space and looked up. I was so miserably happy to have gotten one right that I jumped to the next. "S," I said quickly. She raised an eyebrow and wrote two of them down in the dashes at the end of the word.

"Ass?" I said.

She frowned and tapped her finger on the page. There were two more spaces to be filled. The sound gave me the answer.

"Glass," I whispered. I didn't stop myself this time, and pulled her toward me, but caught the side of her mouth when she turned her head. I pulled back, surprised. She frowned, seemingly at herself as much as at me and wrote: _"I don't think your wife would be too happy about this." _

I'd solved the puzzle, but hanged myself anyway.

"No, I'm - "

Emmett clapped his hands once, loudly. "Okey-dokey, smokies, get me to the hotel, and make it snappy. I need a nap."

"Didn't you just have a nap?"

"I was just resting my eyes."

He sounded like my mother and I almost said something before I realized he'd probably played the same trick she would have: pretending to sleep so she could eavesdrop.

The rain had stopped and the sun was shining through a crack in the clouds. I put the car in gear and got us back on the road. We swung by the hotel, got rid of Emmett, and continued on. I was confused by the game we'd played. She'd written "glass" to remind me, but had pushed me away. I drove her all the way back to the school without a word.

I turned into the tree-lined drive and made my way slowly around the campus. Past the collection of ivy-covered brick buildings, past a soccer field and a barn with a small paddock, there were four cottages built around a courtyard with a gazebo in the center. She pointed out which was hers and I pulled up in front. I'd grown up less than five miles away, but had no idea this was back here. While I considered this, I missed the opportunity to get her door, and had to catch up with her on her porch. She pulled out her keys. I panicked that she'd gotten the wrong idea about me and I wouldn't have a chance to explain.

I didn't say the first things that came to my mind.

_I think about you constantly. I want to know what you are thinking. You are beautiful. I want you._

Instead, I said, "I'm separated." The minute the words left my mouth, I knew I'd only compounded my mistake – and made it impossible to say what I should have.

She automatically signed her response, but I didn't understand and shook my head in confusion. She flattened her hand against my chest and made a sad face, which consisted of sorry eyes and a sort of pout on her lips.

_I felt ridiculous._

"I'm okay. It's okay. It was inevitable."

She nodded once, stood on her tiptoes and kissed me lightly on the lips: clearly a goodbye. Before she had a chance to move away I pulled her against me, one hand at the small of her back, the other at the back of her head. I kissed her desperately, wanting to consume her. She pushed back for a minute, but I didn't let her go and she melted into me for just a second. I felt guilty for being opportunistic, but couldn't regret the feel of her mouth.

"I don't mean to push you," I said, thinking of all the things I would have preferred to say to her, but hadn't earned the right to. In that moment of hesitation she stepped back and gave me another chastising look. I felt like a child, like I'd been reprimanded. For a moment I sympathized with her students, then remembered that I was one of her students now, too.

"I won you last night."

She looked concerned and I dragged my hand through my hair.

_Fucking get it right__, you asstard_.

"I mean – I bid on your lessons at the auction for the golf tournament last night. I won."

She looked at me and squinted her eyes. I could tell she was taking my measure. I felt exposed. This was it; whatever she saw in me now would decide whether I would ever get the chance to really know her.

Heaving a small sigh, she opened the door, and with a tilt of her head indicated that I should follow her inside the house.

I stepped inside, nervous. The house was tiny but efficient. There was a small main room, which was separated from the kitchen by a low counter, which seemed to serve as the dining area. Tidy stacks of papers and folders and a closed laptop indicated that she also used it as a desk. I pictured her sitting there – creating lesson plans while sipping a warm cup of tea – and added that mental image to the others which were filling in the gaps in my knowledge of her.

She pointed at a chair indicating I should sit and walked out of the room.

The space felt prefurnished, but I could see little things that were probably hers. There were books on nearly every flat surface, a few framed photographs, and a colorful afghan that seemed too cheerful for the love seat it was lying on. I looked at the books she had on the table. They were all bookmarked, their spines cracked and creased, clearly not just decoration. Each seemed to be about a different religion. A congress of faiths gathered for inspection: Buddhism, Wicca, and Native American Sacred Hoops. She'd left the one on top open, face down to mark her page. _Symbolism in Hindu Art._ I picked it up to see what she'd been reading, but put it down so it wouldn't seem like I was invading her space.

She returned with a few things in her hand and pulled a pad from the desk. She looked very professional as she wrote, then handed me the pad and her business card. I read what she'd written: _"This is my contact information. Send me an email with your availability. I'm glad you want to sign, but I think you should know upfront that I don't have sex with clients." _

My breath squeezed out of my body and I felt claustrophobic. "Bella," I gasped. It was the first time I'd called her by name. "That's not why I did it. I hoped –"

I stopped, because I wasn't sure what I had hoped, beyond connecting with her. Sex was undeniably a part of it, but it wasn't the only thing. I'd realized that I had imagined her as a series of moments, but never dared to look at the larger picture. I was the world's biggest asshole for giving her the impression that I wanted to be her "client." The word was obscene and made both of us dirty.

I remembered wondering, after those first five minutes we'd spent with the glass between us, if she'd had sex with the men who visited her – how that could be arranged – but the very idea of it had made me insanely jealous. I'd decided that she was only an innocent girl forced into this life by some horrific event. I'd even convinced myself to a certain extent that she didn't exist for anyone else; that somehow she had only been there for me.

I searched her eyes, looking for an answer, or at least a clue. Every assumption I'd made about her was moot. Whatever decisions she'd made required neither my permission nor my justification. The choices that led her to that place couldn't have been any baser than mine. But I wondered how she could have chosen the life she had lead behind the glass if she had other options? I suppressed a tiny flicker of judgment in the back of my mind.

"I don't want to own you," I said. "I just want to be able to talk to you."

Bella looked at me and smiled, then nodded, clearly indicating it was my time to leave. She made a small elegant sign which looked remarkably like she was blowing me a kiss, but which I knew was just "thanks." I circled her wrist with my hand. She twisted her wrist. I felt her skin in my palm. She softly shook her head, "No."

I released her, reached into my back pocket, took out my wallet and handed her my own business card. This was it. Time to seal the deal. I had bought her. She was mine. Without intending to, I had turned this into a business transaction and I was the client now.

I walked like a dead man back to the car, got in. When her front door closed I slammed my hands against the steering wheel once, then again before I peeled away. The sound of the tires on the gravel made me embarrassed.

_Fuck it, nobody can hear__ anyway._

The instant the thought popped into my head, I glanced at the side view mirror. A cloud of dust mocked me.

- o0o -

Emmett's concern for Rose was boundless, and by the time I made it back to the hotel, he'd already sent me a text telling me that he was nervous about getting home too late. I was perfectly happy to avoid confession and another night at my parents' house, so we hit the road.

We got back to the city around dinner. When we walked in the door, Emmett went to look for his girlfriend. I checked emails and got a knot in my stomach when I saw one from Isabella Swan.

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: Lessons

Dear Edward,

Attached please find a few links to websites you might find interesting. I don't know if you're serious about learning sign language, but I'm available on Wednesday nights and Friday before class. It was nice to see you.

Hope you made it back home in one piece.

Bella

I clicked on the first link, which was to a website I'd already seen. I was disappointed at the professional tone of her note. I'd misinterpreted everything and idiotically imagined that there was possibility in the world. I'd mistakenly let myself get excited. I had hoped, and hope had caused me to make changes.

_What have I done?_

My perspective was completely fucked. I didn't know whether the basis for the decisions I'd made was right or wrong. Scanning the next two websites, I felt humiliated and wondered what everyone must think of me. I clicked on the last link, which seemed to be taking a while to load and decided to grab a beer. I walked in on Emmett and Rose in the kitchen. She was lying on her back in his lap, indulging him while he rubbed circles on her belly.

"What did you do while I was gone, beautiful? Did you miss me?"

She purred and batted at his face softly. I grabbed a beer and left the room fast.

I sat back on the couch, which was where I spent almost all of my time in his apartment, and picked up my laptop. My heart skidded in my chest when I saw what was on the screen.

It was a picture of a woman's hands, palms up. Her fingertips slightly curved.

Isabella Swan's website was called and was complete with dozens of short instructional videos. Now that I had her full name, I wondered at the wealth of information I might find out about her. It didn't surprise me that her site existed, but for a minute I was almost glad I hadn't found it before now. If I had, I would have spent every waking hour enraptured by the movement of her hands.

There was a link called "Word of the Day." I clicked on it and found that today's word was "Want."

It was the picture next to the word that struck me. The familiarity of it hit me in the gut. I knew I'd seen it before and scoured my mind for the where and the when. I traced back my actions. I'd been searching for images to confirm Peter's translation of Bella's words from Easter, to be absolutely certain she'd said she had _hope_. I'd found a photo that was captioned "Want." Entranced by its simple beauty, I'd saved it for future obsessing.

I opened the folder where I stored the links and files from my quest, and scanned the thumbnails, focusing on locating the other source of the image. After several unsuccessful attempts, I found one labeled "forbiddenfruit_want."

I opened the link. The photos were the same, except this one had been retouched. The delicate scars on the underside of her arms had been removed, the image was in black and white, but it was clearly the same one. It pissed me off that someone would have snagged it and used it for something other than what she'd intended. I ran through the copyright issues, the terms of usage that would need to be negotiated. I wondered what this _forbiddenfruit_ person was using it for and navigated to the main page of the blog.

_No fucking way__, _I thought, when the first images came up. When Emmett walked into the room, I jerked at the sudden intrusion and immediately felt sheepish.

He gave me a look. "You okay?"

"No. I mean, yeah. I'm good. Good," I said nervously. I scratched the back of my neck. "Checking some work shit. It's all good."

He leaned over to see what I was looking at. I tried to close the window, but it didn't immediately cooperate. I saw a glimmer of recognition in his eyes when he glanced at the screen and I snapped the laptop shut.

He smirked at me. "Dude, you need to relax."

"Just trying to get the situation in hand. I'm good."

"I'm going to the store to get a few things for Rose. Need anything?"

"No, I'm good."

"You've said that about ten times in the thirty seconds." He gave me a meaningful look. "I'll be gone for about twenty minutes. Maybe you should _get the situation in hand_, if you know what I mean."

I pretended I hadn't heard him and the instant he closed the door I opened my computer. Rose jumped up next to me and cocked her head just as the screen screamed out its contents. I shifted into the corner for privacy, but she padded over and climbed into my lap. Before she could make herself comfortable, I pushed her off. "Do you fucking _mind_?"

Rose landed on the floor and gave me an indignant look. I swatted at her to scare her away. Instead, she dug her paws into the carpet, stretched languorously, and purred. When she was finished, she looked at me with disdain, and reared back, ready to jump on the couch.

"Scram, you pain in the ass furball," I said and pretended to kick at her. She jumped back, recovered her dignity and blinked her eyes at me, finally getting the message that I needed a little alone time. As she sauntered down the hall toward Emmett's room, I watched her tail swish back and forth, left to right, hypnotized by the motion. I stopped the minute I realized I was tailgating her and felt guilty. I reminded myself that she was just a fucking cat_._

_I thought__._

I took a deep breath, shifted on the couch and took a good hard look at forbiddenfruit's blog.

The most recent post was from late this afternoon. It was a music link. I didn't take the time to listen to because I was anxious to look at the rest of the content. The next few posts were illustrations, the subject matter of which were mostly vague, but upon inspection seemed quietly erotic.

It occurred to me that maybe I _should _jerk off just to get my mind out of the gutter. I skimmed down the page scanning for images. The next few things were a series of quotes, but at the bottom was a black and white photograph of a man and a woman. Her hand was on his dick and his was on her cheek, obscuring her face.

I stared at it, blew out a big breath and hit the link that said "Further."

As the page loaded, I grew increasingly anxious as to what I would see. When the images appeared, I stared at the screen in shock. There were more graphic portraits of intimate encounters. Not every one was of a couple. Some were of rapture, others were more mundane – one simply showed a woman biting her fingernail, as if she was pondering what to have for lunch. The images were intimate and beautifully shot. They looked more like art than porn, but there was no getting over the fact that this site was fucking hot.

I reached down to adjust myself, remembered what I was here for, and tried to get myself under control. Scrolling through a few more pages, I clicked and found a picture of a man and woman, pressed against each other, chest to chest. Their arms were stretched to the side, palms touching. The image sang through my body and I realized I was breathing through my mouth. My dick was hard as a rock. I started to think about alleviating the situation, and then noticed the "Comments" link. I clicked on it, and read the first few:

_"How old are you?"_

_"What color are your eyes?"_

_"Is this the guy?"_

There was a response to the last comment. _"No. It's my idea of him."_

I swallowed and hit the back button, scrolled through more quotes, more music, none of which I paid attention to. I came to a picture of a woman's pale wrists held against her ass by a guy's hands. I clicked on the photo and saw there were sixty-six notes, most of which either indicated that the viewer had "liked" the image, or had "reblogged" it. I saved the image to my desktop, and followed the link that said "archive." A year of postings appeared. I read the condensed captions, until I came to one that said, _"I'm really fucked up."_ The picture was of a flower, smashed flat, the kind my mother had crushed between the pages of books. I noted the date, clicked on the link and read the few sentences.

_"The guy with the suede loafers and jeans visited again today. He showed me what he was reading and, accidentally, I think he might have shown me his soul."_

I looked down at my shoes, scrubbed my hands over my face and closed the link. I felt faint and closed my eyes, but when I opened them, the email from Isabella Swan was staring back at me. I swiped at my mouth with the back of one hand. I heard Emmett's key in the lock, and with lightning speed, I met him at the door, my laptop under my arm.

"I'm going for a walk."

"You okay?"

"Just restless. Need anything?"

He showed me the bags from the grocery store in response, and I blew past him into the hall. I got to the elevator, pushed the button, immediately rejected it and went to the stairs. Walking down the steps, a series of thoughts cycled through my head.

_Isabella__ Swan. Isabella not Bella. Bella Swan. __Not Isabella, Bella._ _Not Bella, Isabella._

By the time I got to the street her name was a nonsense word. I wondered what else she was not, and walked aimlessly, as my thoughts picked up speed.

_Not Bella. __Not Isabella. Not __shoes. Not soul. Not swan. Not neck. Not throat. Not mouth. Not glass. Not sound. Not words. Not voice. Not Isabella. Not Bella._

I found myself back in front of Emmett's building. I wasn't ready to go in and went to the coffee shop a few blocks up.

I ordered something unconsciously, grabbed the seat in the corner and opened the laptop. I saw the folder marked "New Biz" and opened the presentation I'd have to review with Yorkie on Monday. I forced myself to read it. We were presenting on Thursday, which meant I had four days to get it together. If I focused right now, I could get ahead of myself and buy time, but the noise of the crowd pissed me off. On top of it, every nerve in my body was hyperlinked to my dick. I wanted to scream at everyone to shut the fuck up and stop moving around.

I closed the presentation and stared at the file folder that said "Stuff," which was where I kept everything I'd written about her. Nowhere had I written that she might actually have worked at the shop because she enjoyed it. I felt like an ass for wishing she was more miserable than she sounded on her blog. I told myself that it wasn't hers. That someone must have just taken the picture of her hands from her ASL blog and used it.

I went back to . I watched a few more of the videos, read the captions underneath and groaned as the poetry of her hands provoked the same response in my body that the images from the blog had.

There was a visual similarity between the two sites, a consistent voice in the text. The coincidences were too many. I couldn't ignore the feeling in my gut that they were both her but tried to convince myself that I'd become so obsessed that I had no perspective on reality, then I looked at my shoes again.

_Sneakers_.

But my suede ones were in the closet at Emmett's.

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: Lessons

Dear Bella,

Thank you for the links. I've already visited a few of them and they've been very helpful. The simple gestures, like the alphabet and one-word responses, are easy to understand but the complicated thoughts are difficult to get right without seeing the movement. Does this make sense?

I'm flexible with scheduling, but Wednesday nights probably work best. I will confirm on Monday when I figure out what my schedule is. What time is best for you?

Edward

PS: Are your website photos public domain?

I read through the note. It was as professional as hers, even verging on cold. I rested my hands on the keyboard and thought of a hundred different ways to ask her the questions that were racing through my mind. I typed another several lines trying to warm it up, then erased the entire paragraph and hit send.

I stared at my screen. The background was a simple line drawing of a clock. The caption underneath it read "Tick fucking tock." I got rid of it, and a vague sort of purple appeared, which did nothing for me, but at least didn't blare out my discontent. I drank my coffee, thought about what I'd seen, and repeatedly coaxed my fingers from the track pad to open the link. I wondered who she was, and my newly conceived idea of her got fuzzy. She wasn't Bella Swan, anymore, but she wasn't "the girl," either. I glanced at her email and read "Isabella Swan." The first thought that entered my head was: _Sounds like a dominatrix._

I pinched the bridge of my nose. It occurred to me that "Isabella Swan" might not even be her real name, but just when I thought I couldn't be a more twisted asshole, another thought put me over the edge.

_I wonder if she's updated._

Determined to listen to the music, read the words and ignore the rest, I went back to the site, which was clearly meant to be more than just erotic photos. I decided to fucking immerse myself in it in the hopes of just getting it out of my system, but this wasn't about getting off – it was about seeing what got her off. I told myself it was research and felt slightly better about looking at porn in public.

I swallowed, plugged in my earphones and opened the page. The images were more tantalizing than they'd been the first time, but I ignored them and clicked on the first song. I listened for just a minute. The music was just as provocative as everything else on the page. My eyes grazed down to the first quote, but I couldn't avoid the image beneath it. My body buzzed with stimulation, but each person that came within a two-foot radius of my table made me paranoid. I hit the "Further" arrow, which disconnected the music link, and snapped me back into reality. I saw the picture of the girl with her hand on the guy's dick, and shut the window before I made a spectacle of myself.

I went back to my emails and was shocked to see another one from her.

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: Lessons

Not sure what you mean about public domain. I recorded the videos from my laptop camera. The photos were taken by one of the other teachers. They're mine, if that's what you're asking.

Wednesday is great. How does 5:30 sound?

I took a breath, a sip coffee, and composed a reply.

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: Lessons

By public domain, I'm really asking if you've copyrighted your work, specifically the photos. Assuming you haven't, it's something you should consider doing so that someone else can't claim them as their own or try to profit from them.

Does this make sense? I do this kind of stuff for work, so if you need help, just ask.

I'll see you on Wednesday at 5:30. Where do you want to meet?

I hit send before I could change my mind, packed up my things, and went back to Emmett's apartment.

He was sitting on the couch eating Chinese from the carton. "Saturday night, dude. Want to go grab a beer?"

What I wanted to do was to spend the rest of the night, and probably the rest of my waking hours, reading the blog that I should probably be ignoring, but because he was on the couch, in my spot, and I was too much of a pussy to share my new found discovery or hide in the kitchen to obsess over it, I agreed.

Rose looked at me with contempt from Emmett's lap. "Sure," I said, "Let me just change the kitty litter."

I came out holding the bag of cat shit at arm's length. Emmett held the white beast's face in his hands and rubbed noses with her. "Be back soon, gorgeous." She swatted at him gently with a paw. He hesitated and looked at me.

"Bring her," I shrugged. "Chicks like guys with pets."

He grimaced then said to her, "I won't be late, baby. Please don't tear shit up." He put on _Orange County Choppers_, and Rose circled the cushion a few times before snuggling down in her spot.

We grabbed a couple seats at the local, and ordered some beer.

"What's with you and the deaf chick?"

I slugged back my beer. "She's not deaf, she's mute and nothing's going on. Why?"

He gave me a long-suffering look, and spoke to the bartender, who was passing by. "Got a pen I can borrow?" The guy procured a Sharpie and watched along with me as Emmett flattened out his napkin, drew a hangman game, and dashed off a line of blanks beneath it.

Just as I'd thought, he'd seen everything. "I'm not playing hangman with you."

He filled in the letters himself.

B.U.L.L.S.H.I.T.

He gave the pen back to the bartender, who read the word and laughed. I imagined he heard as many confessions as Peter did, and was probably better at keeping secrets.

"She's cute," I offered.

"She is cute," he said, waiting.

"Peter introduced me to her," I offered, getting nervous at the way he was looking at me.

"You're learning sign language so you can talk to her," he said.

"You're learning sign language so you can talk to your cat," I said, like a dick.

"You tried to kiss her."

I tried to come up with something snarky to shut him up. "I saw you kiss your cat."

"That is possibly the lamest attempt at sarcasm I've ever heard. Anyway, you wouldn't understand," he responded, clearly offended by my tone. "What's up with you and that chick?"

"Her name is Bella Swan," I growled. "She's not a chick."

He held up his bottle in a toast, "Well, to Bella Fucking Swan, then."

"To Rose Fucking Cat," I said, and laughed.

I didn't press it and we left after a few rounds. We were both exhausted and had agreed to go in to the office early on Sunday to get a jump-start on the week. When I heard Emmett's bedroom door close, I stripped down to my boxers and checked my BlackBerry one last time. There were two messages. I didn't expect the text from Tanya, and decided to save it for the cold light of day, but the other one was a surprise, even though I had hoped for it.

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: re: Lessons

Meet me in Room 210 in the Main Building of the school at 5:30. We can talk about copyrights and whatever then. I don't really think I need to worry about it.

I thumbed in my response.

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: re: re: re: Lessons

Will confirm, but I think Wednesday will be fine.

After a few moments spent trying to convince myself I could sleep, I gave in and fired up the laptop. Starting with the oldest posts, I immersed myself in her.

I clicked. I read. I listened. My entire body jerked at certain pictures. I blinked at others, stunned at the freedom of the mind that could gather these images, these sensations, and articulate a simple, but searing statement about the meaning of desire. I groped the couch, painfully confronted by the courage I lacked. Every muscle in my body, every nerve under my skin, sang for this articulation, ached to experience just one night of this kind of abandon of the soul. Whether or not Bella was forbiddenfruit – whomever this was, was light years ahead of me in her ability to articulate what it felt like to need, but not just to need, to hunger, to crave. In the passion of the images, the words, the music she chose, I saw her attempt to grasp at what it meant to truly be alive.

I wanted this. I wanted her. I wanted to be inside the computer, I wanted to chase her through the pages, tease her in the margins, possess her in the words and re-enact the photographs. I felt her skin under my hands, her neck under my mouth. I heard her moans, felt her hands and the way her hips shifted up to pull me deeper inside of her. I wanted to hold her when she came to pieces underneath me, and watch as she realized I was the one who had been captured and brought to life.

I pressed my hand against the screen, breaking my cardinal rule about fingerprints. The barrier of the cold LCD was an insult. She was hiding behind all of this, and I needed to get to her now. I clicked on the photo that had first reminded me of the time I'd spent with her. Without thinking I hit the comments button and was instantly asked to log in or register.

As I filled in the information, the danger of entering personal data, of even considering entering into an online conversation of a sexual nature, rang through my mind. I was a marketer. I used data collected from websites every day. I was building a fucking machine for Newton that would provide his company with access to more personal information than anyone should have a right to. Why would this be any different? Instead of knowing my blood type, they'd know where I spent my spare time, which pictures I'd looked at. This could be my career, my livelihood; it could get back to my friends, my parents – but as the screen asking for my email address popped up, it occurred to me that I didn't give a flipping fuck. I could spend the rest of my life as a dirty old man, living in a hellhole apartment, cutting coupons and arguing with strangers, and it would still probably be better than what I did now.

I entered the email account I'd set up with my Halo pseudonym – the one I used to pay my monthly dues so that Tanya wouldn't see the receipts. All the effort to hide this stupid shit, and yet I didn't care if she watched me chase Jasper all over _Slipspace_ in an effort to hunt him down. The idiotic things I'd kept to myself made me feel small.

The response screen came up and the curser looked like it was throbbing at me. I dragged my hand through my hair.

_Throbbing cursor? I sound like a chick._

This whole thing was going to get ugly fast, but I accepted my fall from grace, my destiny as a piss-smelling perv, one tooth in my head and no insurance.

The administrative requirements complete, I was redirected to the last post of hers I'd read:

"_Sometimes I imagine that things are entirely other. I am easily seduced by possibility." _

I had it in my head that if I'd met Bella any other way, we would still have had the same response to each other. When she was still just "the girl" to me, I'd spent long unproductive hours during the day, and lying awake at night, imagining different scenarios. In each we were strangers who met under the most mundane of circumstances, but the result was always the same. I typed in something I'd been torturing myself with for months.

"_I am walking by a bookstore in a quiet neighborhood on my way home. It's night, and I've been at work too late. Passing by the shop window, I notice you standing in an aisle. You're on your toes, straining toward the top shelf for something just outside of your grasp. As you reach higher I can see the skin at your waist. Frustrated, you stand down but notice me watching outside. I'm embarrassed that I've been staring at you, but I'm captivated. I shrug in awkward apology, but you smile and I am forgiven. I start to walk away, but I can't get you out of my mind. I walk into the store, and head straight to where you are. Just as you stretch again, I reach over your head to retrieve the book and our fingertips just barely touch."_

The simple act of keying in the words brought the image to life. I could actually feel her in my arms, smell the perfume of her skin, my nose in her hair.

"_You can't see my face, but realize it's me. I am a stranger, but you know you are safe. You inhale and take a small step back to close the space between us. I wrap one arm across your chest, the other across your waist, and pull you to my body. When you tilt your head to the side, my kiss is warm on your neck. When you lean back, I take the weight of your breasts in my hands and almost feel your relief, as if I've taken a burden from you. I squeeze the roundness and pull at your nipples once, before dragging my hands down your body."_

The fantasy took on the feeling of memory and I ached for the moment as if it was something I'd lost, desperate to repossess it.

_"I hear voices in the next aisle, but can't lose the feeling of your body against my chest. Even though we are in a public space, I won't rush. You spin around in my arms and I pull your hips toward me. Looking at you up close, I am stunned. Your eyes are beautiful. They have a depth I have never seen before. Your lips are full. When you smile, I know there are things I have yet to reach for. Somehow, I know that I will like you. I know that you can make me live, and that I can be your home."_

I stopped. The scene always ended in sex. Sometimes it was in public; sometimes we found ourselves privacy. I always ravaged her; sometimes I had her ravage me back.

I stared at my words. They sounded like the _romance novels_ Tanya always had lying around the house. But there was truth in them. I had imagined this. I did feel these things. I debated whether to cut and paste them into a document to stare at later, but finally hit the "send" button.

I'd written them for her after all – and wanted her to have them, even though she wouldn't know they were from me.

Waiting for sleep to come, I wondered what the fuck I'd done.

* * *

A/N: What the fuck _has _Edward done? Let us know what you think! We love hearing what you have to say.


	5. 5

I woke up early on Sunday. The day felt full of possibilities and I was greedy for time alone to write. Although Emmett had opened his apartment to me, my presence was wearing thin on both of us and I needed my own place. I heard him snoring down the hall and decided not to wait for him to head to the office. I grabbed a shower, left a note and was out the door before eight a.m.

When the subway pulled up, I figured I had about ten minutes. No Internet connection, no phone. This was some of my best writing time and I used it to write longhand. I reflected on my spiral into lunacy trying, to capture the feeling of being out of control, yet utterly in the now. I was distracted by the events of last night, and closed my notebook. I watched out the window as the train sped along on the underground track.

_I am such a fucking idiot._

Walking up the steps to the street, I checked my phone to see if I had any new messages, but continued to ignore the text from Tanya that had come in last night. At first I was disappointed there wasn't a new one from Isabella Swan, but freaked when I realized she might have seen the blog comment I'd posted and put two and two together.

By the time I got to my office, I was a wreck. The empty room felt full of potential, but before I could get anything done I had to undo my rash actions from the night before. I'd posted my note late, and it was still early. She might not even know it existed. Speeding on the first rush of caffeine, I decided to go to the blog, erase my comment, and forget the site even existed. I would write her a new email in the real world, and try to push beyond our terse interactions.

_No harm, no foul._

Except when I got to the page, I noticed there was a new post, which was a picture of a couple, framed on either side with tall bookshelves stretching out infinitely, trapping them in the moment. They were face to face, their legs intertwined, their faces turned toward each other, moving toward a kiss. Under it was written "For the Love of Paper." When I clicked on the bookmark that took me straight to her request for fantasy, I saw her response: "That's IT? Your fantasy stops at a kiss? You can't leave me hanging like this. Give me enough to read between the lines. I need more from you."

_Holy shit._

I pushed myself away from my desk and my chair rolled to the end of the plastic covering until the back legs of my chair slipped over the edge and stopped dead.

_No, no, no._

No fucking way had I expected a response. I'd glanced at the other postings last night but found them embarrassing, not because most were explicit descriptions of impossibly filthy sex, but because every one had typos and incredibly bad grammar. But _forbiddenfruit_ hadn't responded to a single one. In comparison, mine was banal. Not even porn – it was like _porn lite_. I read it again. It was PG-13 at best. I hadn't even used a dirty word.

Worst of all, there was no "delete" button.

Adrenaline ran through my veins. I got up and walked the perimeter of the office, which we called the "racetrack" because the interns were constantly running relays on it from the studio to the copier to accounting to the kitchen and back, killing trees and time. I passed by my desk once and made another loop, trying to figure out what to do. On my second go round, I got pissed that she was having intimate conversations with any of her readers and everything I thought I knew about her blew apart.

On my third pass by my desk, I convinced myself that the blog probably wasn't even hers, and that I was being a judgmental prick. Relieved, I took a right into the break room to get a drink of water. I refilled the tiny paper cup three times while thinking it through. It was my fucking job to understand people and their motivations, to evaluate the hard data and assess behavior. I got paid to come up with ideas that consumers would respond to, make them care about a product they didn't need, a previously unknown service they couldn't live without. After compulsively analyzing the facts staring me in the face, there was only one very clear and absolutely horrifying conclusion.

_There was no way it wasn't her._

I walked more slowly, and the slower I got, the angrier I got. I felt like I'd been duped. I was a fool. She might not have done it intentionally, but I imagined that she was laughing at me inside of her silence.

I walked back to my desk, put on my copywriter hat and signed into the account I'd made to post my comment last night: _Wordybastard_. "If this is all I'll have of you, fine … same as watching you in the box … at least it won't cost me anything now …" I stopped typing when I realized I was saying the words out loud.

_It wouldn't cost anything other than my soul, which I suspected was already hers anyway._

I erased everything. She was obviously looking for the climax to the story – the ending – but I wasn't about to give her the satisfaction. Instead, I decided to really leave her fucking hanging.

"_Oh, there's more, a lot more, the endings change to suit my mood. Last night I would have made love to you, asked your name and made plans to see you again. But today I'm pissed off. Today I would fuck your brains out and leave without a word."_

I read it through, hit submit, and thought: _There you go, forbiddenfruit, or Isabella Swan, or Bella Swan, or whomever you are or aren't. _I closed the window, leaned back in my chair, stared up at the ceiling, contemplating what to do next. What I _wanted_ to do was install myself in a dark bar and drink myself into oblivion, but what I _had_ to do was finish Newton's project and be done with it.

I opened the file and read through all three concepts, the two that I liked, and the one I was fucking around with for Yorkie but had no intention of sharing with the clients. I was in such a fucking foul frame of mind that I hatched an evil plan to actually present the fake campaign and to sell it in. I'd make Mike Newton look like an asshole in front of his bosses and hope they fired us all on the spot, which would take Yorkie down, and then I'd move back in with Tanya to give it one more go. There would be nothing left of me; it would be a perfectly executed suicide bomb.

The clock said 9:45 a.m. The entire day was already shot, and I hadn't even had breakfast. I looked at Emmett's empty chair. He wouldn't be in until noon, at least, and I decided to run out and get something to eat. The deli was empty. The salad bar had steaming trays of ham, bacon, sausages, pancakes, and scrambled eggs, in addition to everything that had probably been there since lunch on Friday. I looked at the sneeze guard, which had something revolting smeared on it. I lost my appetite and picked up a bottle of water and a six-pack of beer from the refrigerated case.

_Breakfast of champions._

I got back to the office, put the water bottle on my desk, and stowed the six-pack in the big drawer at the bottom. I sent the presentation to the printer, walked to the copy room, beer in hand, and waited while the machine took its motherfucking time to wake up. When it did, I stared at the pages as they slid out into the tray. I thought about what she'd said to me yesterday. "Are you talking to this me or the other me?" She easily acknowledged the gaping space between the two worlds. She hadn't pretended to be anything other than what she was: a stripper without a voice, who did or didn't have sex with her clients, and used sign language to translate God.

_Same old, same old._

I laughed at the utter absurdity of it all, and then again at my utter idiocy. How had I imagined I was special? How could I have possibly thought that I was any different than anyone else? Life was a compromise, sporadically interrupted by brief moments of lightness, banal sex, eventually a family, more mind-numbing tedium while you built your career and raised kids, a brief time in retirement during which you got a few of the things you'd always hoped you might accomplish out of the way while you still had the physical wherewithal to get out of bed in the morning, and then you died. Standing in the stale air of the copy room, it seemed plain as day.

My brain flashed on the time I'd spent holding her in the bookstore, the possibility I had felt having her in my arms. I slammed my hands down onto the copier when I realized I was mixing fantasy with reality. The machine made a horrific grinding sound, which was instantly followed by a systematic flashing of lights before it shut down.

I needed to reclaim my life, and to do that, I needed to end all contact with this chick for the sake of my sanity. I left the steaming pile of shit in the copier and went back to my desk.

I typed out a long email to Isabella Swan that explained that I wouldn't be in Hartford and couldn't take the lessons, ever, but that I had paid for them and they could keep the money, and that she should find someone else to give them to, or that they should find the next highest bidder, and collect twice.

I read through it once, then again, and erased it all, sick of myself and the lies that compounded each other. Then I typed in the truth and ended by telling her that I was fucked up and she was better off pretending we hadn't met. A pang stabbed at my chest. I ignored it, until it happened again, and then again a few minutes later. I did a quick inventory of the warning signs of a heart attack. My father had practically drilled them into our heads in case we ever came across someone who needed help.

_Pressure in the chest. Check. Shortness of breath. Check. Cold Sweat. Lightheadedness. Nausea. Check. Check. Check._

I wondered what would happen when someone found me slumped in my chair, two empty beer bottles on my desk and a porn site up on my laptop. It would probably be Emmett, who I hoped would have the good sense to clean my shit up before he dialed 9-1-1.

As I awaited my imminent demise, I opened up a third beer and toasted myself.

I thought about her words – _"I'm really fucked up"_ – and decided to write a real goodbye note. I thought about that post, buried in the midst of an archive of hundreds of others. What if that one little comment, buried in the midst of everything else, was the one in which she'd written the whole truth of her? If Isabella Swan was really fucked up, then with my last words, I would try to let her know that there was always a possibility for something else. I pulled out all the stops. I referenced my favorite authors, I inserted links so that she could read more if she wanted to. The more I wrote, the more protective of her I felt. I had wanted to be her knight in shining armor, even though she didn't seem to need protecting

And after getting it all down, I wrote, _"Goodbye."_

I skimmed through the note. It was fucking blah, blah, blah so I erased it and wrote exactly what was on my mind.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: Sunday Morning

I started to write something to you, but realized I didn't have anything to say. I don't know whether it's because I can't think or because all I can do is feel, but wanted to say hello, so here goes:

"Hello."

Here is what I wrote this morning on my way to work: _"I wonder why anything is."_

I sound like an idiot.

Tell me what you're reading.

* * *

I sent it, after checking to make sure there weren't any typos. I definitely sounded like an idiot, but it felt honest and my chest felt lighter. I got back to work on the presentation, and by the time Emmett showed up at noon, I was done with everything but the obsessing.

He grunted when he saw me.

"I hope you didn't rush on my account," I snarked.

"You really need to calm the fuck down," he grumbled while getting organized.

Of all the things I'd ever been accused of in my life, being overly enthusiastic was not one of them. I finished what I was working on and sent it to him, then walked over to his desk. "If we keep it simple, I think we're almost done."

"Agreed."

"All I have to do is figure out how to kill Yorkie's concept tomorrow morning."

"Agreed."

He was annoyed. I gave myself until after this week's meeting to start looking for my own place. In an attempt to make up for being a bad houseguest, I took a stab at making him laugh. "I was thinking we could add a sweepstakes to Yorkie's idea. Something like 'Win a Free Operation' or 'Free Benefits for Life.' Any visitor who provides the names and email addresses of five friends gets an extra entry into the sweeps."

"That is truly offensive, Cullen," he said seriously, then leaned back in his chair and grinned. "I kinda love it."

"I know. I even surprised myself." I smirked.

I went back to my desk, added the sweepstakes to the fake idea, and then sent the document to the printer so I could edit a hard copy. I could fuck around all day on the screen, but when it came to fixing it for real, I needed pen and paper. On the way to the copy room, I remembered it was feeling unwell. One of the IT guys had given all of the copiers on every floor the name of a character in Shakespeare, so I found myself soothing it by opening drawers, pulling on levers and twisting a couple of cranks, cooing, "C'mon, Juliet, please, baby. I didn't mean it. Work for me," until she finally hummed into life. On my way back, I heard Emmett talking and laughing. When I came around the corner, I saw him at my desk talking on my cell phone.

"Who is it?" I mouthed silently. He gave me the "one-second finger" and turned his back. I moved in front of him. "Dude, who're you talking to?" I asked out loud. He plugged his ear to block me out. Whomever they were, they were getting the full-on McCarty treatment.

He looked at me and said, "Let me confirm with Edward, but I think we're available Friday night." He nodded at me to see if I agreed, and I realized who it was. Since I was now, apparently, Newton's bitch, I shrugged and said, "Whatever." I hoped to Christ it didn't mean golf on Saturday.

"Thanks again for this weekend. See you soon. Here's Edward."

I shook my head and waved my arms "no." If the plans were set, I didn't need to talk to him – and since when was it cool to conduct business on Sundays? We had a conference call scheduled tomorrow after lunch. I didn't have anything to tell him until then anyway. I glared at Emmett when he handed me the phone.

"Thanks a lot."

He looked at me like I was the world's biggest dickhead. "What the fuck is your problem?"

I flipped him off and broadcast my annoyance through the receiver. "What's up?"

"Well that's a fine how-dee-do on a beautiful Sunday morning."

"Mom!" I said in surprise. "I didn't realize it was you."

"I should hope not."

"Hey, thanks for dinner on Friday," I said, not nearly as graciously as Emmett had. I looked over at him and shook my head in apology. He flipped me off and got back to work.

"I wanted to make sure you got home all right, and to invite you to a dinner party I'm having on Friday."

_Dinner with my parents two Fridays in a row. Fuck._

"I'm not sure what my schedule is this week. Looks like the meeting is on Thursday, which means I'm up there Wednesday night and Thursday day, back here that night."

"Emmett told me that you were both free."

I looked over at him. He was peering into the screen of his computer and had one thumb jammed up his nose, his index finger on the outside. He was concentrating hard at whatever he was looking at. I heaved out a sigh and started walking to the other end of the office so I could straighten her out.

"Mom, listen. Back to what we were talking about this weekend..." I gave her a moment to take the bait; she humored me with her silence. I imagined she was jotting down chores on her "to do" list, which she kept by the phone in the kitchen. "Are you listening to me, Mom?"

"Mmmhmmm," she said absently. "What are those _whatchamacallits_ – those things you put the thing in so you can hear the music?"

"I have no idea." I tried to imagine what she could possibly be referring to. "Are you talking about speakers for an iPod?" I guessed.

"It's all together – a box." I pictured her using her hands to show me, even though she was a hundred miles away and all I had to go by was her voice.

"Are you talking about a docking station for an iPod?"

"I don't know. Is that what it's called?"

"Mom, just tell me what you're trying to do."

"Your father gave me one of those _thingamabobs_ for my birthday and I thought it would be nice to have music during drinks."

I suggested she ask Jasper, and tried to get her back on topic.

"Oh for heaven's sake, why didn't I think of that?" She _tsked _at herself and I pictured her writing it down. It was a sure bet that ninety percent of the things on her list had either my father's or my brother's name next to them. There were probably quite a few with my name on them, too. A few visits ago, I'd arrived on Saturday morning, ready to relax in the comfort of my childhood home, only to discover I was scheduled to trim the hedges and spread mulch in the flowerbeds. I'd spent the entire weekend sweating my ass off doing yard work with my brother, while Tanya and my parents socialized.

"Anyway, Mom. It's about Emmett. I need you to understand. We are work colleagues. That is _it_. There's nothing else going on. Am I making myself clear? We work together, but we are not _together. _I am not gay. Got it? We're good?"

"I thought you were living with him?"

"Will you please listen to me? I'm _staying_ with him. This is temporary. This is why I have to get back here, after the meeting. I need to find my own place." My words came out clipped, like I was talking to a child.

A click on the phone indicated she had another call coming through. "Can you hang on a minute, honey?"

"Absolutely not. I'm working. Just – "

I heard the emptiness on her end as she took the call. I dragged my hand down my face and looked out the window. There wasn't a person in sight. A single cab was at the stoplight, but otherwise the streets were empty. Normally I'd just be waking up. Brunch was still an hour away. For some reason, this reminded me of Bella. I thought about taking her out on a date, and what it would be like – passing notes across a table. I smiled to myself, but tried to refocus when my mother came back on and summarily dismissed me. "I have to go, sweetie. We'll see you on Friday! Love to Emmett."

"MOM!" I yelled. "Don't hang up. There's no Em – " I stuttered out, but she hung up mid-sentence. I snapped the phone closed and decided I'd call my father later to settle this once and for all.

I went to my desk, annoyed as hell and read through everything one last time. The strategy was smart, the concepts were solid, and it wouldn't take me long to explain them. It was done. The meeting would last an hour. If they wanted to talk, we'd be through it in an hour and a half. In and out. Short and sweet. Perfect.

"Nice breakfast," he said nodding at the empties littered on my desk. I slid open the bottom drawer of my makeshift cooler and held my hand in display and offering.

"Give me ten minutes and we can take this buffet to go."

-o0o-

Having finished my stuff, Emmett needed to flow the text into his designs. Normally, I'd leave him alone to let him get it done, but I didn't want to upset our recent accord by going back to his apartment to hang out while he was in the office working, so I stayed.

I'd forbidden myself to let my mind wander before I'd gotten everything done, but now I had until Monday morning to allow the madness to creep in. I'd purposely logged off email to avoid distraction, but now I had time on my hands. I felt off balance because I had too much time to fill now. In fact, I had the entire rest of the day to kill.

_Fucking feast or famine._

When I logged in, there was one note from Isabella Swan, and one that indicated there were several messages that had been forwarded from my Wordybastard account, which was the email account I used to talk to Jasper about all things Halo. At first I wondered what Jasper was up to, then remembered what else it could be. I forced myself to look at the one from Bella first.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: Sunday Morning

It's a weird day and I'm not really reading anything at the moment. I'm looking at pictures of henna tattoos because I'm working a wedding for one of our board member's daughters. His family is Hindu, but they're having both a traditional and modern ceremony, because the groom and most of the guests are local. The henna stuff has nothing to do with translating, but I think the designs are beautiful and I find its ritualistic roots fascinating.

And no, I don't think you're an idiot. I wonder why anything "is" too. Good luck figuring that out. Sometimes the wondering is all that's real.

See you on Wednesday at 5:30.

I read it over and over for any hint of subliminal messaging and when I finally decided that it was what it was, I was disappointed that it wasn't _more_. I hit "reply."

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: Sunday Morning

Sorry your day is weird. Mine is too. I'm at work, but wrapping things up. I don't know anything about religion, but noticed you had about a hundred books on the topic. I'm basically a heathen and would be much obliged if you'd keep that fact to yourself. Pete will give me an immense amount of shit if he finds out.

I might like that Hindu chick with the six arms, though. What's her name? She might come in handy from time to time.

* * *

I laughed at the last line, and hit send. I felt like I was talking to an old friend, albeit one that I was obnoxiously flirting with. Our back and forth was easy. Almost as easy as the physical part had been. Speech was what separated us – and it occurred to me that was what separated everyone from everyone.

I clicked on to the next email. There were ten replies to Wordybastard, which I'd linked to my work account. The first had come in at eleven. It said, "_That's HAWT!"_ and was signed _luvlyleggs_. The next three had come in at almost the same time.

"_Angry sex iz da bomb."_

"_You cn fuck my brains otu anytime."_

"_Dear WordyB, what mood r u in now?"_

The rest of them were more of the same, but the last one made me groan.

"_Are you a guy or a girl?"_

I erased them all, and clicked on the bookmark.

_Christ almighty._

I squinted at the page, hoping there was nothing there but the original volley, but another response from _forbiddenfruit_ was waiting for me.

"_I hope you have an understanding partner. I could do with having my brains fucked out, but it's not currently an option. Oh well. Hope you're having better luck or at least a better day."_

This was not the response I'd expected, even though I hadn't expected anything.

_Oh well? OH WELL?_

Fuck that noise. I'd show her "oh well." I glanced at Emmett, who was in the zone and oblivious to anything outside the periphery of his screen. I tapped my fingers on the keyboard and angrily typed in the words that came fast and easy to my mind.

I entered _"Oh, well?"_ in the subject line and wrote:

"_We make our own opportunities, Forbidden._

"_My mood has marginally improved. As it stands right now, I still would have fucked your brains out, but I would have walked you home after. I would have kissed the shit out of you when we got to your door and you would have invited me in. I would have made love to you more slowly this time, and made it my solemn duty to make sure you never forgot me, that my hands were the ones you thought of whenever you were with any other guy."_

I cringed inside when I reread the last part and erased it.

_...that my hands were the ones you wanted on your body and that you thought of my touch every day for the rest of your life. After I left, you would have wondered what might have been, and after a while you would have realized that I was more than just a fuck. And you would regret that you had let me go with a simple "oh well."_

_You've already given up, my love. I understand why you might be willing to settle for less than everything, but in the mood I'm in right now, I would rather be celibate than squander any part of myself on 'oh well.'"_

I felt righteous when I posted it, convinced I had shut her up. Her silence would let me focus on the fairly normal conversation I was having with her on email. Maybe I could get to know her enough to get to the bottom of _forbiddenfruit_, but if not, at least I might have a chance of convincing myself that she was a figment of my imagination.

My stomach grumbled. Three beers on an empty stomach had done me no good. I yelled over to Emmett to see if he wanted something and he gave me a firm thumbs up. I walked down to the avenue and ordered two burritos. While I was waiting, I checked my BlackBerry, hoping there might be one from Isabella Swan.

There wasn't, but there were a few more addressed to my alter ego.

I read them, perplexed.

"_Swoon."_

"_U need to fuck me RTFN."_

I wondered what RTFN meant but then decided I didn't want to know.

"_Squander urself on me."_

I shoved the phone into my pocket and paid for the food. Walking back to the office, the phone vibrated every minute or so with more message alerts.

I tossed Emmett his lunch, and we ate separately. I checked the alerts and saw more of the same. A lot more of the same. I checked the blog. _Forbiddenfruit_ had posted a new picture. It was the backside of a naked girl, leaning up against a door, a rumpled bed off to the side, but she hadn't posted a response to my note, which made me disappointed and happy at the same time. A lot of people had "liked" what I'd written, but I was surprised to see that there were quite a few others who had "reblogged" my words. I spent a while thinking through the mechanics of it all, went to my Wordybastard email account and stopped it from forwarding to my work account.

_Compartmentalized. _

I felt like I was safe. In any event, even if she responded, I wasn't writing anything back.

_I was NOT fucking writing anything back._

I finished my lunch and decided to call my father and put the brakes on the Emmett issue before Mom started picking out china patterns.

"Cullen." My father always answered the phone as if he assumed the call had been routed to him accidentally.

"Hi, it's me."

"Edward?"

"Hi, Dad. It's me."

"Is that you Edward?"

"Dad, can you hear me?"

"Hold on a second, honey, I'm at the hardware store."

"Call me back when you have a minute."

"I'm picking up a new blade for the lawn mower," he said to me, and then to someone else, "Why do you need my phone number? I'm paying with cash."

"Dad, you can call me back when you get home."

He continued the other conversation. "I've been coming to this store for almost twenty years ..." Then he must have turned away from the phone because I couldn't make out what he was saying. Just as I was about to hang up on him, I heard him say, "Here, talk to your brother for one second."

"Yo," Jasper said, but he wasn't paying any more attention to me than my father had. "Dad, I'm growing old here. Either give him your phone number, or tell him no. The cashier has no idea what they're going to do with your information."

I snorted. "Dude, just tell him to call me back."

"What's the matter? You aren't having fun waiting in line at Sears while your father interrogates the twelve-year-old guy working the check out, while simultaneously antagonizing the three dudes behind us?"

I sympathized with him, but this was clearly not the time for a heart to heart with the Doctor. "Can you just ask him to – "

Jasper yelled my parents' phone number into my ear and my father was instantly back on the line. "Let me ask my son. What do you do with the phone numbers which are solicited at the register?"

_Solicit._ The word slapped me in the face. "Dad, I don't know. They're probably going to use it to have you answer a survey or something. Listen, can you call me when – "

"Well, you should tell them that it's a gross invasion of privacy to have to – oh, I'm getting a call from the office." He disconnected me while he tried to grab the other call. An unexpected call from the office on Saturday usually meant an emergency so I didn't call him back, and went back to my email, which had a new alert.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: Sunday Morning

I know what I would do with six arms, but I'm not so sure I want to know what you would do. If you're thinking of Kali, goddess of time and change, she only has four arms. She's also responsible for divine retribution. Careful how you invoke her name.

Are you in the office? I thought you worked at an advertising agency. It's Sunday, you know. The day of rest. On the other hand, if you're a heathen, I guess the same rules don't apply. Rest assured, however, that your secret is safe with me.

Although, I had expected you to be pursuing other interests such as golf, or perhaps taking in a show?

* * *

_Golf? A show? What the fuck?_

I didn't know what to make of this. It felt awkward and uncomfortable – almost sour. The picture she had of me was unpalatable. Emmett whipped a folder across the floor to me. I took a look at the first two logo designs and shaved fifteen minutes off the presentation. When I looked at the third design, I almost coughed up a lung. He'd taken Yorkie's idea, merged it with the sweepstakes I'd added, and created a program called "Friends with Benefits."

I looked over at him, stunned. He was grinning from ear to ear. "Are we done, Chief?"

It was the most god awful idea ever created. I nodded proudly at him. "Absolutely. We're outta here."

- o0o -

When we got back to Emmett's, I assumed my position on the couch. Emmett turned on the television to catch the Mets game, and I feigned interest while checking email. I hadn't responded to Bella and didn't expect one from her, but was fucking stunned to see that there were thirty emails to Wordybastard, all of which were in response to my response to "oh well" response.

_Shit._

I got really nervous, worrying where this was going, and how it might come back to haunt me. I clicked on Forbidden's blog and stared when I saw her new response. She'd posted a black and white picture of a guy and a girl in a bathroom. The girl was sitting on the sink, her skirt shoved up past her thighs, and she was working on the guy's belt. It was a still shot but the urgency was more than clear. Her words were even clearer than that.

-o0o-

_I've been watching you walk by the store window each afternoon for weeks. You always seem forlorn, preoccupied, and I've wondered what it would take to make you smile, make you scream. I want to know the secret of you. _

_Tonight you're late, and I assume I've missed your melancholy stride, and take to sorting and reshelving the classics before closing up. _

_I feel the burn of your gaze before I turn to see you standing on the other side of the glass. I meet your stare, daring you into action, but the most you muster is a shrug. I smile, dismissing you in disappointment, having hoped you would find a way to be bold. I see the spark of hunger in your eyes when you turn to walk away, and I know you'll be back. _

_Come and get me. _

_To bide my time until you come into the shop, I organize the books. When I feel the press of strength along my arm I know it's you. You've come inside. When you hand me what I've been reaching for, I know that I'm the secret – that I have made you bold. Our fingers touch and I barely keep from gasping, but cannot stop myself from surrendering to the call of your heat, and my body molds itself to yours. Your hands move with purpose, showing me how I can soothe your imminent ache, that you are strong, capable, but desperately in need. _

_I arch my back and press myself into you and this time it's you that struggles to contain your gasp. I feel your stuttering breath hot on my neck and your hand wraps around my wrist, anchoring us to the thick wood shelf above. Your hand slides across my stomach and I push back into you_.

_Harder. _

_I hear you groan, but I want to feel it. I reach above my shoulder and thread my fingers in your hair, pulling your lips to my neck, and there it is. Every time I move against you I feel your breathing catch, your nose against the shell of my ear. You want more, but can't find the words, so you beg with your tongue and teeth. _

_More. _

_The smell of books mingles with the smell of you thick in the air. Every push and pull edges us closer to the shelves. You offer your lips to me, branding me with their wet heat. Fingertips brush against warm leather, worlds of fantasy, history, philosophy, and insert themselves into the places between, writing our story in the interstices. Your cock is hard and insistent at my back and I want to feel the weight of it in my hands. I want to mold you, control you, and feel you come undone. _

_Closer._

"_You're perfect." Gasping for breath, your teeth become insistent on my neck, your hand moves to press against my breast, teasing my nipple through the fabric. _

"_You're here." I smile, wanting you closer still. It's late and I know we're alone, but you don't. That you keep moving - oblivious to the possibility of the world watching or perhaps more insistently because of it - only pushes me further. _

_Our bodies rub against each other, the friction threatening to set us on fire and I can feel your urgency pressed into my back. I reach my hand between us and stroke the bulge in your pants, sliding smoothly along the cloth, up and down._

_Need. _

_Your movements are losing restraint, and you hold me to you. Your arm is wrapped around me like a vise. My hand slides along your stomach and I push my fingers past your belt and graze the tip of you pushing up to me. _

_No more resisting. I make quick work of the zipper between us, and you sigh as I set you free, your nose buried deep in my hair, your hands gripping my shoulders._

_Wait. _

_You stop and look at me, unsure. I turn enough that you speak to my profile, "I don't have you, but I already know that I don't want to lose you." You're shaking your head, already asking me not to go. _

"_I'm already inside you. I dare you to try to stop this," I reply. _

_You groan and your hands slide down, telling me I'm right, that you've surrendered, that you want inside too. Your fingers find the heat between my thighs, and it's my turn to want. I grip your hips, tight enough to bruise. I'm entangled in your touch, feeling the pull, but I need to push you. _

_Wicked. _

_I reach behind me, and trace the contours of your face with my fingertips, reading every curve and plane. Your lips press to my palm, still so tender even in your need, though the rest of your body betrays your urgency._

"_Lick," I say, and your tongue connects to my skin without pause. I slide my palm down your smooth lips, and the rough perfection of your tongue, my middle finger catching between your lips and teeth. Without request it slips into your mouth, and the sensation is almost too much, being surrounded by you, inside of you, and your hands are on me. Suddenly the urgency is mine. _

_Desperation. _

_I pull from the searing heat of your mouth and wrap my hand around you. My grip is tight, and your response is instant and vocal. I wanted to tease you, but every moment you're not inside me, I'm only taunting myself. _

"_Please let me have you." One of us has said it, maybe both. It doesn't matter because we both mean it and you're already there, my skirt fisted in your hand at my hip, your fingers making history of the last scrap of fabric between us. _

_I bring you to me, hard in my hand, rising to the balls of my feet to keep us matched. No placating words, no questions. In one movement you're inside of me, and it's too much and not enough. _

_Our sounds are a chorus of need and satisfaction, our bodies a flurry of push and pull. I lose my balance, and start to fall forward, but you stop me before it can separate us, and I brace my hands on the shelves in front of me, my cheek pressed against the cool leather bindings. Your hands are in my hair and on my skin, bringing me closer, daring me to fall apart with you. _

_I raise my foot to the shelf in front of me, opening myself to you completely as I push back to meet you, and I'm already there, falling apart at the seams. _

_Completion._

"_Don't stop," I demand, I insist. I beg, and I'm frozen except for my voice, which still calls for more. More of you, more of this, even as every muscle releases, sighing in satisfaction. _

"_I couldn't... can't... never enough," you say, but your body is speaking of fulfillment and completion. Your arms hold me to you like they'll never let go, but you are letting go, and I feel every bit of you release._

_Our panting breaths mingle: the last bit of us to come together. I turn to face you, already mourning the loss of our physical connection, but the look in your eye steals my breath and I see we're forever entangled. You know that I can make you live, and that I can be your home._

I read it through once, then again. I couldn't take in what she'd written and listened as my cell phone exploded with email alerts. I'd stopped Wordyb from forwarding to my work account, but the alerts were still coming in loud and clear to my personal inbox. I turned it to vibrate, but finally had to turn it off. I needed to ignore this. Needed this not to be happening, but by midnight there were almost a thousand emails in my inbox.


	6. 6

**Disclaimer:** SM's intellectual property rights are retained. Our intellect is questionable.

* * *

The alerts were coming in fast and furious now. I'd set the phone to silent, but saw by the blinking red light what was happening. I slid it in between the cushion and the arm of the couch to hide it from myself. Emmett and I were watching the Mets. It was the top of the eleventh and showed no signs of being over anytime soon. The game was scoreless. The Phillies had a man on first, and the pitcher had two strikes on the batter.

I took the opportunity to write her once more and be done with this shit, to man up and deal with it; one last response was all I had in me and then I could rethink everything.

* * *

**Wordyb:** _I would have taken you home, forbidden. I never would have left you at the shop._

_

* * *

_

The comment count went up by one and I knew without looking exactly who was posting.

* * *

**forbiddenfruit:** _I don't go home with strangers, Wordy, but I would have taken you for coffee; I probably would have gotten us lost on the way, though, distracted in the rain._

_

* * *

_

I must have made a noise because Emmett looked at me and nodded his head like he was having the same thought. I realized I was holding my chest and opened my mouth to say something, but he got there first.

"I'm amazed that I have nothing funny to say about a guy named R.A. Dickey, but the knuckle-balling jerk-ass is the only... _Holy Shit! Holy FUCKING Shit! SHIT. Don't tell me, don't tell me... dear god, I beg you, DON'T LET IT BE A HOMER..."_

My eyes slammed on to the game.

Emmett was on his feet and yelling so loudly that they probably heard him in Queens.

The guy in center field snagged the ball and shagged it to the pitcher who did what needed to be done. Emmett sighed. Rose looked over at him and blinked her eyes once, slowly.

After the threat was past, Emmett bounded into the kitchen to grab a couple of beers, tossed one my way on his return, then got comfy on his ironic Barcalounger, which had adjustable seating, a side pocket for magazines and a vibrating massager. I hadn't seen him turn that thing on, but it was plugged in.

Emmett started rapping at the game. I was almost soothed listening to the amusing patter that came from a life of watching batters bat and pitchers pitch and it kept me out of the laptop for a few moments.

"It's too bad the R stands for Robert," Emmett said as the announcer narrated every nuance of the players' lives, sponsorship deals, and contract talks. "If it were Richard, we could be talking about Dick Dickey. So many missed opportunities."

"It would still suck having Bob Dickey as a name. Imagine growing up with that shit?"

"True, but how about Dick Trickle. That guy's parents must've had a sense of humor," Emmett said and laughed.

"Dick Pole was a good one," I responded, struggling to keep up.

"Ruh roh," he yelled, back to the game.

I sighed and went back to the laptop. I stared at her words. It was like an instruction manual for what she wanted, and yet it was generic. Not generic. It was targeted at no one, or at anyone – which meant the same thing. How many guys out there, in addition to me, were fucking eating this shit up?

_And yet she mentioned the rain._

I blew out a big breath.

Emmett turned back to me. "I'm right there with ya, bro, this guy is killing me. They need to replace his ass." I looked at him, trying to get my bearings. He laughed. "Mr. Dickey is one of your ilk. He leads a double life. "

I managed to stutter out, "My _ilk_?"

"He keeps a stack of books in his locker so he can read when he gets kicked back down to the farm team to work the _knucks_. He's like a freak of nature – didn't even expect to play for the majors. He wanted to be an English professor." Emmett took a slug of beer. "Can't you see him on the mound, spouting Shakespeare?"

"Professor Dickey has a much better ring to it," I said trying to keep it together.

"That's Dr. Dickey to you, DuardohohOHOHOH - _man on third__!_" He gasped, then yelled, "MAN ON THIRD!" as if no one else had noticed. Impossibly, the guy at bat had beaten the odds and hit a long ball into left field, which allowed the guy on first to almost round the horn.

The guy was clearly contemplating going for home and I couldn't help myself. _"Run, run, O run!"_

Emmett jumped to his feet and squatted, spreading his arms out like he was the catcher and was going to try and block me from sliding home, even though I was cemented to the couch. "No! Dude! Stay! Whose team are you on, fuckwich?" He was talking to me but not looking at me. "Stay your ass on second," he commanded, pointing at the screen.

I pointed lamely at the screen. "It's from King Lear." Emmett rolled his eyes at me. "I mean, isn't it great when a guy has the balls to..." Emmett looked at me like I was speaking in tongues. "He's – it's – they've still got – aww, c'mon, home field advantage, Em. It would've given them something to deal with. They still have an at bat. The Phillies have nothing."

He shook his head slowly and squinted his eyes at me like I was a traitor. Rose swished her tail and I could almost hear it snap at me in disdain.

The asshole ran and they tagged him out. We settled back into the game, Emmett actively so, me as a distraction from the virtual world that was slowly but surely unraveling my mind.

I was able to keep up my side of the banter, but I kept it in check, mostly mumbling in echo to whatever Emmett yelled. In the meantime, I decided I'd use the ruse to write Bella Swan an email. I had nothing to lose, so I figured I'd put it out there as far as I could.

_Fucking truth be told, I was a Boston guy anyway._

_

* * *

_

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: Wednesday

I'm watching the game with Emmett. Tie score. 0-0. Speaking of which, I'm not sure you have the right idea. I did the golf for my friend and to support the charity, but I don't play golf and normally I'm not much for shows. I mean, one-on-one shows. The only one I ever went to was with you, for you. To be with you. You know what I mean?

Can I ask what happened to your voice? Is that rude? Reading your words, I can't help but wonder. I'm sorry if the question is too personal and I'm making you uncomfortable.

Why are you _you_?

By the way, do you read the _NYTimes__?_ Do the Sunday puzzle? Have you figured out the answer to 33 Down? Clue is "Peruke". I don't want to go on-line and cheat, but if you could give me a tiny hint, I will be forever in your debt.

* * *

She wrote back almost immediately, like she was waiting for my message.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: Wednesday

Right or wrong, my idea of you can only come from experience. The man I've known in dark, quiet places is, admittedly, very different from the one I've seen in the light of day. You claim to dislike golf and shy from religion, but I've only seen you at church functions and a golf tournament (and the aforementioned dark, quiet places).

I'm just going with what I see. I also know that you are a reader. And that you are recently separated. This means – not to put you in a box or anything – you are in transition and likely confused. My guess is that you are not in a place to know your own mind.

As for me, I'm me because I have no choice in the matter, although I'd like to think I would still be me even if there were other options.

So tell me, what do you do that is true for you? For instance, what are you reading? What did you have for breakfast? Which shoes do you have on, and why did you buy them?

PS: It wouldn't matter to me if you'd been to other shows, although if you'd read with other girls, I might have feel a twinge.

PPS: A "peruke" is a wig. I Googled it. I absolve you from cheating since I'm the one who looked it up, but who are you trying to kid? Steal home. Kwim?

* * *

_Kwim?_

I grinned and fitted the word "wig" into the space that had been waiting for it all day. The satisfaction of slipping three letters into the space only exacerbated how I wanted to slip into Bella, Isabella, whatever the fuck her name was. I needed to decode her. I wanted her to feel the sibilance of my words as I spoke them on to her skin. I wanted to be so deeply inside her that I possessed her. I wanted to own her beauty, but more than that, I wanted to be inside her mind. Needed to.

_Desperately._

And because it was an easy portal to slip through, I went to the place that I promised I wouldn't and clicked. I started with the archive, looking for older posts I hadn't read, desperate for more of her, searching for missing pieces. My eye caught an image saturated in color and I expanded the post to see what vibrancy she'd attached to it.

* * *

**forbiddenfruit:** _E__aster._

_I've just read about Holi, the celebration of color. It's a Hindu ritual, a spring awakening like Easter, but with so much more joy._

_Easter. I couldn't help but imagine him stripping off his shirt along with thousands and thousands of other men, as colored powder was blown into the crowd. I thought of orange dust clinging to his skin. How beautiful he was and how otherworldly he'd be. Neon pink slashes across his chest that I would smear with my hand as I pulled him close. The way the color would look on my breasts as he pulled me in. Saffron clinging to his eyelashes like the pollen from the lilies._

_Easter. The neon color feels carnal, not in a tawdry, come and get me kind of way, but in ways that are uplifting, life-affirming, ethereal, cyclical, soothing – all the things that I dream a religion might be._

_Easter. I want his purple powdered hands to hold my bare backside and lift me against him. I want my green fingers to leave their marks on his neck. I want that transfer of color, even if for only a day, and then I want us to submerge ourselves in the river and wash each other free, back to pale, then further to transparent, jellyfish after all._

_Easter. The initial shock, the sweetness of his lips, finally feeling him, and then the out-of-sequence thrill of being introduced, made awkward by the intruding flowers. I wouldn't have pegged him for a lily man. Their cloying scent hung heavy in the air, even after he left with his wife. I mourned the death of our possibility._

_Easter. I watched him awkwardly carrying the pots of white flutes out the door as he trailed behind in dejection, cradling the flowers that didn't fit snugly in his arms. I'd like to think he yearns for wildflowers, the sweet scent of larkspur, honeysuckle, and snapdragon. I still have hope he will bloom someday._

_

* * *

_

Death.

She had mourned us at the very moment that I'd felt something inside me start to germinate; while I'd been searching for our possibility, she'd given up on it.

It was her. Any illusions I had that _forbiddenfruit_ was anyone other than that haunting and seductive girl behind the glass, the beautiful, brilliant woman I'd held against me in that dark room, anyone other than Bella Swan, had just been destroyed.

The post was weeks old, but my reaction was immediate. I had to answer, to go back in time and tell her that in that moment I'd felt my first spark of life. She needed to know that her affections left a Technicolor impression, even if she thought the marks were on another man.

* * *

**Wordyb: **_You are capturing me with color, saturating me with scent. I taste the powder against my tongue for a second before it finds the warmth and salt of your neck. I want to rub the color away from your mouth, and when my thumb arcs across it, dragging the yellow away, your lips plump back into place, defiant from being pushed. I want to lick away the remaining tint. I want to hold you in my arms among the pulsing crush of people. As more colors are splashed on our bodies – the crowd so thick and deep, so happy and joyous – they become an outward echo of my soul._

_This is not the _me, me, me_ of my every waking hour – it is how I disappear into you and how we evaporate into the world._

_Yes I want to be transparent with you; yes, I want to be gloriously invisible._

-o0o-

I woke up Monday morning groggy. The first few breaths I took while lying in bed felt like I was inflating my lungs after a long period of disuse. I felt rested and considered going back to sleep for a few more minutes, but I had to piss. My feet felt like they were flapping against the hardwood floor as I walked toward the bathroom, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I realized I had sheet marks embedded across the left side of my face and down my arm.

I heard my mother's voice say, "You must've slept hard, honey." Thank god for Tylenol PM. The reason why I'd taken the pills in the first place crept back in my mind, and I wondered how bad it would be if I took another during the day.

Walking back to the living room, I heard Emmett's alarm go off. He groaned. I watched Rose pad over to her spot on the couch. We acknowledged each other for a moment, then she circled the cushion to get it just right, curled up in a ball and went back to sleep.

I grabbed my laptop to see what had happened between three a.m., when I'd finally medicated myself, and now.

My Wordyb email read 589, which was a vast improvement, although still worrisome. I took a look at a few that had come in with interesting names. This morning's offerings included light bondage, a three-way with two girls – neither of them Bella – dinner and a movie, followed by a walk past a cupcake shop, and a lot of relationship advice on how to win the heart of forbiddenfruit.

I saw a few new messages on my work account from Yorkie. Because I knew what they'd contain, I felt soothed by them, oddly.

Then, because I couldn't not, I sat at the kitchen table and clicked on the bookmark to her blog. She had put up a new post, but it was a song: _I'll Stop The World & Melt With You_. I looked at the note she'd written underneath.

* * *

**forbiddenfruit:** _This reminds me of him, but I think they just used this on some really bland national ad campaign and I think that at this point it's over played, but my perspective may be skewed since I own the import single with six versions_.

* * *

I felt guilty; like it was my fucking fault some ad agency had ruined one of her favorite songs by using it as a soundtrack to a fast food commercial. I frowned and was just about to click on the song, when Emmett staggered into the kitchen and started rummaging around, groaning and stretching in front of the open refrigerator. He systematically proceeded to open every single cabinet before pulling out a mug, cereal and whatever the fuck else. When he neglected to close a solitary door, I didn't say anything, but I shook my head behind his back.

Did you say 'rabbit rabbit'?" he asked around a mouthful of breakfast.

"What?"

"'Rabbit rabbit'?" It's the first. You say it before you get out of bed in the morning and it'll bring you good luck for the entire month."

"Missed that one."

"Your loss. Coffee?" He held the pot up like he was making sure I knew what he was talking about.

"I'm good."

"Ready for Yorkie?"

"Absolutely."

He smirked. "Let the games begin," he said before heading off to the shower.

I wish I'd woken up earlier because I liked fucking around for a few hours before having to do anything. I resolved not to take any more of those fucking sleeping pills. I had to wait for Emmett to get out of the shower in any case, so went on my "go to" news sites to make sure the world hadn't come to an end while I was asleep.

_The New York Times_ looked as good as could be expected.

_Wall Street Journal _indicated that businesses would be spending less on media over the next few years, which would trickle straight down to my desk.

I shifted over to _Huffington_ to see what nonsense I could fill my brain up with, and when I felt suitably informed, I moved on to the next source: entertainment news blogs. These weren't places I would visit for personal enjoyment, but working in the media business, it was sort of expected that I would know this shit before anyone else. Somehow, just because I wrote words that sometimes found themselves on TV and in magazines, clients assumed that I was hanging out with celebrity assholes in my spare time, doing drugs with The Lohan or pushing over Christmas trees with Keifer.

_Which did sound fun._

I clicked on one of the better-known sites, which usually did the trick, and planned on doing my usual two-second skim down the middle of the page, looking for a picture or a headline that might grab my eye, something I could toss out into casual conversation to reaffirm that I had my finger on the pulse. I was almost to the bottom when I broke into a cold sweat.

* * *

_**WordyB! WordyB! Choose me!**_

_I have gotten literally dozens of emails forwarding this swoony exchange between two strangers, forbiddenfruit and Wordybastard. I wanna hump them both! Case in point:_

"_Oh, there's more, a lot more, the endings change to suit my mood. Last night I would have made love to you, asked your name and made plans to see you again. But today I'm pissed off. Today I would fuck your brains out and leave without a word__."_

_BOOOOOOOOOOO!_

_Wordyb, strap on some balls and introduce yourself already._

_PS: NSFW, peeps, don't be caught with this up on your screen or the boss will freak._

_

* * *

_

My stomach cramped into a ball. I moved the cursor around looking for links, and dry heaved when I saw _frutaprohibida_. I don't know what I hoped, but when I clicked the link in absolute denial that it could possibly be her blog, I was punched in the face with the color, the fruit, the pictures and shit... everything. It was all there. Everything she'd written, everything I'd written and all of the other comments and likes and reblogs.

I staggered to the counter and poured myself a cup just as the vomit rose into the back of my throat. I chased it back down with a sip of coffee, which just made me more nauseated.

_Mother fuck._

I clicked on one other gossip blog for reassurance that, what, that only motherfucking Perez Hilton would know about this? – but it just got worse.

The ridiculous thought that I should have said "rabbit, rabbit" before I got out of bed crossed my mind, and then I figured since I slept on a couch it wouldn't count anyway.

I forced myself to read through a much kinder, gentler site, trimmed in hot pink, but there it fucking was, at the bottom.

* * *

**_Who are Wordybastard & forbiddenfruit?_**

_I don't usually include this kind of stuff, but I really want to know. David sent it to me. He's travelling for work and lonely. __I'm home alone and feeling sort of romantic._God only knows what he's doing on these sites ::looks with stern eyes at David:: but it is so hot that I forgive him.

_I feel like he sent me a love letter. Now I am completely addicted to these two lovebirds and cannot wait to hear what happens next. I spent most of last night reading her postings, from the beginning when she first started, to the point when they first started talking. I think he just told her he loved her, but I have no idea what she's going to say in response._

_It's like the best soap opera. Click here if you're interested, but be careful, it's _UNF_._

_

* * *

_

And he included the motherfucking link.

Emmett showed up in the kitchen with comb marks in his hair, looking like a very pink and clean version of himself. I practically knocked him over trying to get past him to the shower. I opened the door and surprised Rose in the litter box.

I collapsed in on myself. "Oh, oh, sorry. So sorry," I said in embarrassment and slammed the door closed.

A few seconds later, I heard a soft scratch and let her out. She gave me a look and went to find her boyfriend to rat me out. I shook my head, then realized that being in love with your cat was a fucking speck of a problem compared to the one that I'd gotten myself into. I looked out the bathroom window, half expecting the Eyewitness News satellite van to be parked on the street outside the bathroom.

I showered. I shaved. I dressed. By the time we were walking out of the subway toward the office, I was in a full-on sweat. Emmett looked at me and said, "Dude, I know things suck for you right now, but maybe you need to, I don't know – maybe you should talk to somebody."

For a second, I thought of telling him what was going on, but decided that five minutes before presenting our ideas to Yorkie wasn't the most opportune moment.

"Thanks, Emmett. Maybe. Lemme see how the next couple of days go. I think I'm just nervous about this presentation."

"Don't be. It's in the bag. You know it. Just be the suave asshole I know and love, and all will be well."

I nodded grimly at him.

The elevator doors opened up and we walked into the reception area. The receptionist and one of the interns were hovered over the computer monitor. They turned their heads guiltily to look at us as we passed by. I swallowed hard at the bright pink border that was shining out from the screen.

At my desk, I pulled up the presentation, printed a few copies, and met Emmett on the way to the conference room. We sat like two criminals chained to the table, waiting for Yorkie to make his way in. He liked to make an entrance, which meant he was never there first, and was always late due to some "urgent" business that took precedence over whatever we could possibly want to show him.

I purposely didn't bring my BlackBerry to avoid temptation, but my fingers fidgeted and I realized I was spelling her name under the table.

B.E.L.L.A.

I curled my fingers into a fist, guilty at what I'd inadvertently exposed her to.

I dragged my hand through my hair and dropped my head back to look at the ceiling, just as Yorkie strode in, holding the hand of a tiny little girl with black hair and a frown.

He looked at us almost in embarrassment. "It's take your daughter to work day," he said and shrugged. "Alice, this is Mr. McCarty and Mr. Cullen. They come up with the pictures and the words."

She glowered at us and wrinkled her nose. "I draw pictures and I can write a lot of words," she said with disdain.

"Hi, I'm Emmett." Emmett stood up, leaned over the table and put his hand out to shake. She gave him her fingertips like she was the fucking Queen of England.

"I'm Edward," I said and waved.

"You have stick-up hair. It's stupid," she said.

I ran my hand through it self-consciously and smiled. "Yeah, I know. Stupid hair is how I charge my super powers. When it stands up really high, it means my laser eyes are fully charged."

She looked at me like she didn't want to believe me, but might want to see a demonstration. I looked up at Yorkie and grinned. He gave me a short shake of the head like I shouldn't encourage her.

"I'm just kidding," I said to her and smiled.

She shook her head at me, an exact replica of the gesture I'd just made to her, and let out of a huff. "Figures. Boys are stupid."

Her father looked at her with something like fear and interrupted. "I have fifteen minutes," he said with deep meaning in his eyes, then lowered his face to his daughter's. "And then we're going on a tour of the studio, aren't we, Alice?"

She shrugged but was still looking at me. I made my eyes go wide for just a second, to let her know we had to keep my laser eyes just between us. Her eyes grew wide in response and she leaned back into her father. I smirked at her, and she smirked back at me from the comfort of her father's chest.

Emmett stood up and leaned over the desk toward Eric in an almost menacing position and growled, "Give us ten," then proceeded to do the entire thing himself while I nodded like an idiot.

When it was done, Yorkie was grinning from ear to ear. "_Friends with Benefits_. That shit is –" He caught himself and looked at the tiny tyrant in his lap. "That _sure_ly will grab their attention. Are you sure it hasn't been used before? Did we check the trademark? Make sure we grab it."

Emmett looked over at me for back-up and I stuttered out, "I did a precursory search and nothing came up. A few things that didn't pertain."

"I think it's stupid," Alice said. "And I don't like the colors in the picture. They're boring." I looked at her. Her crisp haircut looked like she'd just been to the barber's this morning. She wrinkled her nose at me and held my eye. I glared at her, hoping that Yorkie wouldn't listen to a kindergartner's advice, but worried that he might.

"That's not nice, sweetie. What did mommy tell you about keeping your thoughts to yourself?" He looked at me and said, "Send it to legal and have them do a full search. I don't want to present anything we can't execute."

I almost told him it was unexecutable, but knew he didn't want my opinion. I figured I'd let the attorney give him the bad news in about twenty-four hours, which would buy Emmett and me time to polish everything else.

On our way out the door, I heard Alice say to her father. "I want you to go away on a long work trip."

I was grinning to myself as we passed Lauren and another Account Executive, who were whispering over a BlackBerry. A pink glow lit up Lauren's face from the screen, but she assumed a sarcastic sneer when she looked at me and said, "Thanks for inviting me to the meeting, Edward. Glad to be part of the team."

I apologized profusely at my slip up, and promised it wouldn't happen again. She finally shrugged and shook her head at me with a small grin of acceptance. "See that it doesn't."

"Speaking of mommy, she is fucking _hot_," said Emmett when we were barely out of earshot.

"Mmhm," I said absently, anxious to check on my newfound celebrity. While we were in the meeting with Yorkie, I'd decided two things. First, I had to undo the damage that I'd done. Second, I had to come clean with Bella.

I made it back to my desk and began condensing the day's work schedule down to the absolute necessities in order to clear the rest of the day to focus on the Wordybastard situation, which was becoming ridiculously complicated. I luxuriated for a moment thinking of how much time I'd have to complicate things if I quit my job right now.

I dialed Newton's office, and noted that I would incorporate a new hold message into the proposal to replace the ridiculous Debussy that threatened to infect me with narcolepsy while I waited for his secretary to put me through.

"Cullen! I hear you're up again this weekend. I've got a 6:30 a.m. tee-time, want to make it a foursome?"

"Sorry, up for the meeting then right back to Manhattan."

"Really? My mother said you'd be at your parents' for their dinner party on Friday."

Was there no privacy? Christ. "Yeah. No. I've gotta get right back."

"I'll move the meeting to Friday."

I panicked. I'd forgotten that business and pleasure were so easily interchangeable once you took it out of the life and death pace of the city. "No. No. Don't move it. We're confirmed for Thursday."

"Dinner Wednesday night, then."

_Jesus H. Christ, did Newton have no life? Wining and dining clients was part of the deal, but he was relentless._

"Actually, I have a class I'm going to. Next time?"

Newton handled, I was free to focus on trying to extricate myself from this fantasy world I'd created. Now that I knew beyond any doubt that Bella Swan was_forbiddenfruit_, I didn't want any part of who I was to be fraudulent to her. I was starting to see parts of her life beyond the glass, but she didn't yet have the benefit of the same knowledge about me.

I angled my monitor toward the wall to buy me an extra second to change screens if someone came by. I went to the blog for the second time in as many days with the intention of breaking off the virtual relationship in favor of the real one, which, ironically, felt far less tangible, but held the promise that, someday, perhaps, my fingers might touch her warm skin instead of pouring my passion onto the cold plastic of a keyboard.

I was swiveling in my chair, but stopped dead. There was a new post, a picture and a question. I couldn't help but notice that since our exchanges began, the tone of the photos had somehow become more sensual, more intimate, couples embracing, stolen moments of passion. This one was no different, but was decidedly more erotic. The frame showed only a woman's bare leg, raised and bent at the knee as she lay on her back, her foot braced against a chair, a man's hand wrapped possessively around it. It wasn't explicit, but the subject was clear. I adjusted myself to relieve some of the pressure building in my dick and read the note she had attached to the photo.

* * *

**forbiddenfruit:**_ Sometimes what you can't see is more arousing than what you can. Would this picture make me feel less if I could see his face buried between her thighs? How much of my longing relies on mystery?_

_

* * *

_

My goal was to unwind this thread, but I couldn't just let the conversation drop. I put together a strategy that would help me extricate myself, and maybe point her in my direction in another more real channel of communication.

* * *

**Wordyb: **_I find the opposite to be true. The more of yourself that you reveal, the more infatuated I become. The deeper I dig, the messier things become and the more I want to roll around in everything you are. I think it's time to embrace the tangible._

_

* * *

_

**forbiddenfruit: **_I've had my fill of aching for the unavailable, of intimacy dying green on the vine. I'm keeping you. You're messy, but blissfully uncomplicated. This may be as tangible as it gets._

* * *

**Wordyb: **_Is it the lark or the nightingale, forbidden? Morning or midnight? Determine my fate._

_

* * *

_

**forbiddenfruit: **_Are you quoting Shakespeare to me?_

* * *

**Wordyb: **_O, that this too too solid flesh would melt.._

* * *

**forbiddenfruit: **_::sigh::_

* * *

_Fail._

Instead of pulling away, I'd only dug myself deeper.

-o0o-

I didn't pay attention as the afternoon disappeared in an ongoing volley of flirtation with forbidden and was surprised when I was hit in the face with a crumpled piece of paper.

_Time to GTFO, Duardo._

Emmett had already fled his desk and was holding the elevator door open for me when I got there.

"Beer?"

"Sure."

"Cool."

As we walked through the lobby, Emmett slapped the ridiculous statue on one of its asses before stepping out into the evening, and I laughed for the first time all day. We stopped by the pub that was midway between work and the train, and were quickly into our brewed meal.

The red message indicator had been blinking on my phone constantly since last night. Every time I cleared the pile of message notifications for Wordybastard, it filled up just as quickly and had crashed twice while trying to load them. I'd been clearing everything up to the message from Tanya which I had been blatantly ignoring, but decided that if I just got over myself and read it, I could delete it and make more room in case anything came in from Isabella.

I looked to see if there was a photo attachment, and was disappointed when there wasn't, even though those had stopped the instant I moved out. I tried to justify my rationalization that it was perfectly acceptable to get a nude picture of my now-estranged wife, even though I didn't want it, and hadn't kept any of the dozens that she'd sent over the last few months. Not that I cared. Not the idea that she...

_Fuck it._

I clicked on the message and saw a wall of text.

One Christmas morning while I was in college and Jasper was in high school, after examining one of my presents – a novel I'd asked for – I tried to explain to him that I could tell if a book was well-written just by flipping through the pages to see how the words were laid out on the page. He'd laughed and called me a pretentious asshole, and we'd ended up in a wrestling hold on the living room floor next to the tree, trying to good-naturedly slap the shit out of each other until my mother threatened to throw us both out into the snow in our boxers and t-shirts.

This was how I'd ended up with the nickname "Wordy Bastard" to begin with.

Tanya hadn't used any punctuation, not even fucking paragraph separation, nothing that showed the ebb and flow of her words. It made me tired just looking at it.

* * *

**Tanya Cullen: **im puttin 2gthr a list of our thngs and want to now if u want teh stake knive set tht yr fathrs recptnst gave us, the cut glass bud vase that we hv duplicats of, the kitchenette set, and the teak chr year mothers bro got from kanye (also the salad tongs with the elefant & teh zebar). You can have the everday dinnerware, becuz Imkeeping the the crystal silver and ov cours the china since it was my grandmothers. I packd up yur office & left the boxes In the small br, let me kno wen u want to get them, but Tues nite wud B gud. ok. bye. t

* * *

The sadness of the note was made ridiculous by her text speak. I half expected there to be a fucking smiley face at the end of it. I knew it would come to this, but it felt very cold. I laughed so I wouldn't look like a pussy in front of Emmett. It occurred to me that it looked like one of his fucking lolcats messages so I showed it to him.

He took the phone and read the message then looked at me in disbelief. "Your mother's brother knows Kanye?"

"No," I said with unwarranted irritation and grabbed the phone back. "She means Kenya."

"Too bad."

I took a sip of beer and played around with my return message. I was still pissed at her from this weekend and my anger came pouring back in my response. I handed my BlackBerry for him to take a look.

* * *

**Edward Cullen: **TAEK IT ALL AN SHOVE IT UP UR ASS. TUESDAI IZ NOT GUD ANYWAY. KTHXBAI.

* * *

He gave me a chastising frown but said, "Change 'shove' to 'shoov.' Sounds more authentic that way."

I felt childish. She was interested in these things. I wasn't. Using sarcasm to make this point to her just made me a dick. I typed in another message, read the words and proofed it three times. Still harsh, but if she wanted to send it to everyone we both knew, it wouldn't be misread. I almost had Emmett give it a once over to make sure I hadn't misspelled anything, but I didn't feel like sharing this with him anymore, because it wasn't a joke, it was the truth.

I pressed the send button.

* * *

**Edward Cullen:** Take it all, Tanya. I don't want any part of it.

* * *

I felt lighter having sent it, and more so when I deleted the original text from Tanya. It was surprisingly easy to let that part of my life go. It had become like carrying around an empty suitcase, and it the end, it was just a matter of setting it down and walking away.

Because I had the phone in my hand, and was beyond obsessed at this point, I went back to the blog to look for another note from forbidden.

* * *

**forbiddenfruit:** _"The average person will spend 20,000 minutes kissing across his/her lifespan." Don't ask me for the source of this quote. It was in an advertisement for gum – and I know how flipping ridiculous advertising is and that it's all just manipulation, but I realize that I don't want my kisses to be spread too thin. I want to know the uniqueness of every single one and I think that can only happen by sharing them with a few or preferably with one person. I want the sad kisses, the happy kisses, the mad kisses, and the hateful ones. I want hateful kisses so bad that I could bang my head against a wall. I wonder if I can write about every kiss I've ever given or received. I want to claim them – those in the past, those in the future, those that are about to happen._

_Dear Wordyb, if you were about to kiss me, would you let me record it? Even if we were new?_

* * *

I forced myself not to respond, to refocus on the real world, and sent her an email to continue the conversation. I hadn't responded to her email from last night, and wondered about her suggestion that I steal home. I was also very worried that she might be getting the same alerts and noticing the same headlines that I was. I felt responsible and protective, and I wrote.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: Confirmation

So, just to confirm, we are on for Wednesday at 5:30. I've looked at the sites you suggested and they were very insightful. Can I take you to dinner afterwards?

* * *

I sent the note, hoping that she might make the leap and realize that Wordyb was me. I sat back and waited. Her responses generally came back almost immediately, and I smiled at the screen as I waited to see her message come through. And I waited, and I waited. But nothing came.

-o0o-

On Tuesday morning, I woke up with a growing sense of unease, skipped my morning routine and went directly to the entertainment news. Not only was it as bad as yesterday, it was impossibly worse.

_Somehow the online outlets for the major media picked up the blog mentions._

One of the weekly celebrity rags had this headline on their main page.

* * *

_**Real Life Romance?**_

Is he writing to her because he's too shy? Wordyb has introduced the art of writing love letters to a generation that has been raised with text speak, and reintroduced it to those of us who have become jaded and cynical. Is this a stunt or is it love? Does he have a disability? Is he disfigured? Is he our new Cyrano? Stay tuned.

It was followed by a subhead that said, "Got a news tip? Click here to send it to our editors."

* * *

I held my breath and went to a more erudite publication, hoping that the thinking press would give me some peace of mind. What Bella and I were doing would get a moment of notice. We had accidentally provided a little content on a slow news day. That was it. I read the feature story which focused on foreign affairs, and let out a whistle in relief, but as I dragged the cursor to click off, crossing a text box with a special subscription offer, under a headline that shouted:_ "Size Does Matter: Study shows that fatter men last longer in bed. Should Americans rejoice?"_ I caught another reference to Bella's blog.

* * *

_**Who says romance is dead? It's simply become conTEXTual. Is sxting the new love letter?**_

PoMoRomeo and Juliet/2.0 woo each other with a combination of pictures, words and taunts. Wordyb has become the heartthrob of teenagers and cougars alike, while Forbiddenfruit is a heroine for the age – a Jane Austen for the 21st century – owning both her own mind and sexuality.

Click here to read a discussion among Salon contributors on The Art of Digital Romance.

* * *

_Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuccccccck._

_

* * *

_

**A/N:** Thank you muchly to SweetDulci, DmsDms, Wonderall and, of course, as per usual, the incomparable, stunning, and always delightful, ElleCC.


	7. 7

I checked to see if Bella had responded to my email, but there was nothing. I wrote a new note confirming our appointment on Wednesday, with a quick apology for resending the note, along with the probably unnecessary lie that my BlackBerry was being a bitch and letting her know that if she had sent a response, I hadn't received it.

Before I sent it, I changed "appointment" to "lesson" and then changed it back to "appointment." I started to fixate on a better word, and just before I typed in "meeting," I sent the fucking thing because I was beyond bored with my need to edit every goddamn thing in my life and too nervous about why she wasn't writing back to worry about what she might read into every single word choice, because I was more worried that she was getting the same kind of message alerts that I was, or worse, that she had noticed that we were currently in the midst of our fifteen minutes of, albeit anonymous, fame.

By the time lunch rolled around, I'd tried to reach Bella via every channel of communication available to me, and almost had to be restrained from pinning Yorkie up against the wall in his fucking pseudo-office when he asked to look at something in the presentation and immediately took out a pen before even turning the first page, which was the title slide.

The urge to call him out on all his ridiculousness was suffocating. The only thing that kept me from doing it was the fact that I would get fired and have no legitimate need to go see Bella, though it occurred to me I could just go see her anyway.

When I got back to my desk, I checked the blog to see if she had posted anything since last night, and I was both relieved and aggravated to see that there hadn't been anything since the one I'd seen two nights ago.

_Dear Wordyb, if you were about to kiss me, would you let me record it? Even if we were new?_

I realized I'd left her hanging, just like she was doing to me. I hoped that she might be feeling the same desperation for a response from Wordyb that I was for her email, then hated the thought that she might want to hear from him while ignoring me. It occurred to me that I was becoming jealous of myself. I groaned at the me I wanted her to see, which was neither of the above, or more accurately, both. And not just both, but maybe more. The "maybe more" I had only seen glimpses of, too.

I remembered that moment we'd shared and the feel of her lips against mine, and I tried to give it back to her. I ached for a spark of recognition from her of the moment I couldn't erase, but almost hoped that she would ignore this me, too. I wanted to know that she didn't like him better.

**Wordyb: **_There would be no need to record it; our first kiss would be unforgettable. I would kiss you so that every cell in your body remembered the moment. No digital or celluloid evidence would be necessary after my lips painted their devotion against your skin. Although, if you held your lips hostage an inch from mine, I would probably give you anything you asked for._

In spite of the scrutiny we were under, in spite of the danger, I sent it. Part of me hoped to be outed. More importantly, though, I waited, simply needing the confirmation, the validation, the connection that her words meant to me. I refreshed the page over and over as I waited for a response.

_Nothing. _

But still the alerts came in, and when I walked through cafeteria at lunch, I could have sworn I heard someone say "forbidden," but I kept going because I was getting paranoid. However, the more time passed, the more worried I got, and I started imagining increasingly horrible scenarios.

_She'd seen the media pick-up of our back and forth on her blog and was upset._

_She'd figured out that I was Wordybastard and had cut off all communication._

_She wasn't confirming Wednesday's appointment because she'd decided I was a psycho killer._

The stress was becoming too great. The longer I went without hearing from her, the worse I felt and the more bizarre my theories for her silence became.

_Another one of her readers, one who _actually_ was a psycho killer, had found out where she lived and kidnapped her._

_Or worse, the school had been informed of the nature of her Forbidden blog, fired her, and asked her to vacate the premises immediately. In that case, I would never find her again, unless I asked Peter, but she would probably be too embarrassed to go to a priest to explain what happened, and she would be lost._

My cube was claustrophobic, and I couldn't stay still. The only thing keeping me in the office was the fact that I was expected to be at my desk for no other reason than the antiquated logic that I was somehow getting something accomplished because I had an assigned seat. Having worked ninety hours over the last five days, which included the weekend, I decided just to pack up my shit and go.

I told Emmett I was heading out to get props for the meeting and that I'd see him back at his place later, but once I headed out, I didn't really have anywhere to go. It felt dickish to hang at Emmett's while he was still at work. I didn't feel like sitting in a coffee shop for the next bunch of hours, and I certainly wasn't going to Tanya's and my place to camp out in my old office, even though the apartment would be empty for at least a little while. The sense of not having anywhere to go and not having anyplace to be shocked me cold. I stood at the corner of the street and watched the entire city rush around. Cabs, buses, bikes, people single and together, an ambulance, even the fucking pigeons seemed to have some place to go and something important to do.

So I did what any self-respecting homeless person would do and headed off to the park.

– **o0o –**

I got myself comfortable on a bench just inside the park and across from The Museum of Natural History. I spread my shit out enough that no one would sit down directly next to me, but not so far enough away that it looked as if someone had abandoned it. I booted up my laptop but I couldn't pick up service. I hadn't brought a coffee. I couldn't focus on work. I couldn't call Bella and just come out with the whole thing because the phone wasn't an option for her. I thought I should probably tell Emmett what was going on, but, in any event, that wasn't happening until later.

I stared at the screen.

I felt displaced, which could have been part of the inevitable disappointment over Tanya and me, but which, in fact, was just a symptom of the greater disease. I really didn't belong there either, and while I knew she'd listen to me if I asked to talk to her, I didn't have anything to say, other than the fact that I was sorry, but I couldn't quite bring myself to say that, either.

It was three-thirty in the afternoon. I was a healthy, educated, twenty-eight-year-old male. I had a job, health benefits, short-term incentives, and long-term options that might possibly, if the selling price at the time of my vesting met the threshold that would be stipulated by the corporation at the point my allotted shares reached maturity, provide me with enough money to put a down payment on a retirement home or a Winnebago, in which I would spend my twilight years talking about the weather and, very likely, insurance, when I wasn't in line at the hardware store, harassing the kid at the register.

I listened to the noises on a playground farther into the park and wondered when the happy screeches of childhood had turned into the silent screams in my head. I stared at the page and willed myself to write, but none of my thoughts were there to be captured.

There was a gray cloudbank in my mind, and an uneasiness that tingled unpleasantly in my nerve endings. It was as if my entire body was on pins and needles, and behind it all was a growing need to see Bella and make sure that she was okay. This was separate from the compulsion I'd felt when she'd been the girl who, I'd wrongly imagined, waited for me in her glass box. This wasn't the desire that arose from the flirtatious banter we'd struck up as anonymous playmates in a digital space, and this certainly wasn't the longing that kept me up at night as I anticipated what it would be to have her to myself for an entire hour as she introduced me to her language. This was simply the determination to make sure she was safe, the urge to protect her from danger and threat.

The minute that thought shot into my head, I shoved everything into my bag and headed straight back to Emmett's. The distance between us was too great. The farther away I was, the more powerless I felt. Sixty miles was too fucking far. I needed to be closer. Now.

The cab sped me downtown. I was in such a frenzy to get the fuck out that Rose didn't even attempt to tweak me. I called my mother to let her know I would be arriving on the late train, and she practically purred with delight. She told me she'd have my brother pick me up at the station, and that I should call him with my arrival time. I called Emmett. He wasn't at his desk, so I left him a voicemail, making some twisted excuse that I had a "not-very-serious-nothing-to-worry-about" family emergency that required me to go home a day early and that I would see him on Wednesday night, and that I'd be available by cell and email anytime he needed me.

To be sure he got the message, I sent him a text saying the same thing. As the taxi pulled up to his apartment, I got his response.

"Tell Bella hi for me."

I was on the train before dinner and in Hartford before prime time had even started.

**-o0o-**

Jasper picked me up in the Corn Rocket, which was the delivery van for the farm he ran. I was so happy to see him, I didn't even mention the fact that he had sworn a solemn oath never to drive that thing once he'd graduated from summertime help and been promoted to full-time manager.

My parents lived across the street from a hundred-acre farm, which was currently owned by the great-great-grandson of the original farmer and experiencing a renewed burst of popularity due to his embracing all things organic and foodie. Jasper had started picking corn at fourteen and had returned each and every summer through college. He'd realized early on that his love of the earth and soil was actually a calling. I had always disdained his lack of desire to get out and see the world, but it suddenly dawned on me that his truth had stared him in the face from across the street the whole while we were growing up, while mine was still as murky to me as a puddle of mud.

"Did you eat?" he asked when I got in the seat and slammed the door. Most conversations in my family started off on the state of your stomach.

"I had something at the station before I left."

"Want to grab a burger before we go home?" he asked, pulling away from the curb. The second I nodded, he cranked the wheel and made a u-turn that I was positive had us on two wheels.

"Dude! For chrissake," I yelled, grabbing on to the door handle with my right hand and the back of his seat with my left.

"Dude. Relax."

A minute later, we were at the diner.

We ate in congenial silence, or at least, I ate in silence. Jasper hummed his way through a cheeseburger and fries, while licking his fingers and thumbs like they were part of the meal.

"That's disgusting."

"The Mrs. has the Doctor on some diet that only allows him a pound of meat a week."

"Jeez."

"Tell me about it," he mumbled, still chewing.

"How about you? I seriously doubt the heart attack you're eating meets the standards set for biodiversity."

"I'm all for sustainability, but I'm not going to be an asshole about it," he said around a mouthful of food. "Everything in moderation, right?"

I toasted him with my Coke and laughed, mostly at myself.

He observed me for a moment while swallowing. "You look tired," he offered.

"I'm fucking exhausted," I said.

"Work?"

"I guess."

"Not work?"

"Maybe."

"The thing with Tanya gettin' to you?"

"In some ways, not in others. I don't know what to say. It is what it is."

"That's dickish."

"I'm a dick."

"Even for you."

"Yeah. I guess."

"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."

So I shut up.

The waitress took our plates and left the check. My brother put his hands on the table in front of him the way my father would have and said, "You know I love you, but I have to ask. Is there someone else?"

I frowned, because I didn't really have an answer. I dragged my hands through my hair while thinking about what to say.

"Jesus Christ."

"I didn't say anything."

"You didn't need to," he said and dug in his pocket for his wallet.

"Let me," I said and grabbed the check.

He tried to grab it back and the paper made a _pffft_ sound when it ripped in half. The waitress raised her eyebrows. Jasper looked at me in concern, and then flashed his sweetheart eyes at the waitress to ease the tension. "I guess we're splittin' it," he said with a laugh. She smirked at him, and we each threw some bills down on the table.

In the parking lot, the moonlight shone blue on the Corn Rocket. We climbed in, Jasper turned the key in the ignition, and after a few hesitant tries, the engine made a weary noise that sounded a lot like _harrumph_. He wasn't _not_ talking to me, but I could tell he was annoyed.

"You should retrofit this thing so that it runs on used cooking oil."

"One of the kids we've got for the summer has been talking about doing it as a project for school, but I don't have anything reliable to replace it with if it doesn't work," he answered, coolly.

"Business good?"

"_Business_?"

"The farm. You know what I mean. How's it going?"

"It's the farm. Sun up. Sun down. The earth goes round. We reap what we sow."

"Are you lecturing me?"

"Do you need a lecture?"

"Not from you. Did you have a good year last year?"

He leveled a look at me like I was the biggest douche in the world. "Well, Edward, that's an interesting question you pose. The return on investment for tomatoes and watermelon was strong; however, the fluctuation in market conditions last August affected our overall profit margin."

"Don't be an asshole. I'm asking a legitimate question."

"Corn likes cold nights and warm sunny days. It was too hot last summer and we didn't have enough rain so we got a bad bout of smut."

"Say what?"

"Corn smut. It's a fungus. _Ustilago maydis_. Smells like ass, but there's this insane chef in town who serves it…

"That's nasty."

"It's like a truffle, like mushrooms." When I waved him off to stop him from telling me any more, he sighed. "I swurr to gah, you really ought to expand your horizons."

I came so close to giving him shit about his stupid slurred accent, but the irony of his words kept me from saying anything. Accent or not, he had it together in a way I doubted I ever would. We drove through town in silence. When we passed the place where Bella, Emmett, and I had pulled over during the rainstorm, it occurred to me that I should tell him something.

"There is a sorta girl."

He rolled his head toward me from the headrest and raised his eyebrow. "What kinda girl is a 'sorta girl'?"

"She has nothing to do with why Tanya and I broke up."

"Yeah? Been seeing her long?"

I paused to consider. "I've known her a little while, but I'm not actually seeing her. Well, I mean, I see her, but I'm not 'seeing' her."

"Does she like you?"

"Yeah, I guess she likes me."

"Naw, I mean does she _like you_ like you."

"What the fuck, Jasper? I don't know if she _likes me_ likes me. She's friendly. I think maybe she's into me, but she's nervous because... well... for whatever reason."

"Sounds intelligent."

"She is, but she's got some stuff happening too."

He looked at me and shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone's got stuff." We kept going but stopped talking. The town got darker as we got nearer to home. The night grew quiet except for the sound of the Corn Rocket's engine as we sped along. I wondered at what point Jasper had gotten to be so smart.

"That's all you're going to say?" I asked.

"About what?"

"About what I just said."

"What should I say?"

"Aren't you going to ask me about her?"

He cleared his throat. "So, Edward, tell me about this young woman. Where did you meet?"

"I met her at an... um... she worked at a store near my office."

A few moments beat by. He seemed content with my answer, but I was less than satisfied with the amount of information I'd shared.

"Aren't you going to ask me anything else?"

He sighed. "Are your intentions honorable?"

"Not entirely."

"Fuck, dude. Don't play games with me. Tell me what's going on."

"I didn't date her before Tanya and I broke up."

"Good, I guess."

"But I didn't not date her."

"Not good, I guess. Did you take her out?"

"No, we mostly flirted."

"Flirting isn't technically a crime, last time I looked."

"Yeah, well."

"Are you dating her now?"

"No. She moved up here."

"Up _here _here?"

"Yeah."

"_Here_ here? Like _here_?"

"Yeah. She lives _here._ She's a teacher."

"Huh."

And that was all we had time for before we pulled into the driveway.

**-o0o-**

My parents were watching TV when my brother and I showed up in the family room. My father had his arm on the back of the couch behind my mother and a death grip on the remote control. Despite the fact that they looked very cozy, I knew they were locked in a battle over the volume.

My mother started to get up. "Did you eat? Let me get you something to eat."

"Thank you. I ate."

She sat back down and huffed. "When did you eat? You didn't eat," she said accusingly. "I have curried quinoa waiting for you." My father gave me a quick thumbs down from his lap, making sure my mother didn't see.

"Jasper and I grabbed a quick bite when he picked me up. Thank you, though."

My mother frowned at Jasper. He flashed a single dimple at her. She pursed her lips into a thin line and shook her head, then grinned at him anyway.

We all sat in front of the television and watched the rest of the show. Every fucking time an ad came on, my mother would say, "Can you turn it down a little?" and then, when the program came back, my father would edge up the sound again. So much had changed since we'd all lived here together, but it was nice to know that we could still enjoy the warmth of each other's company in the presence of a laugh track and the incredibly asinine fifteen-second commercials whose soundtracks were recorded at a louder volume than the programs they had been bought for so that viewers wouldn't tune out, if they hadn't TiVo'd them into oblivion already.

Jasper went to bed first, since he had to be up before dawn. My parents went soon after. The quiet and the dark made me drowsy, but I needed to see if I'd gotten any messages from Bella. I opened my laptop to check.

I looked at the blog first, since that didn't require sifting through hundreds of increasingly distracting blog responses in order to find what I needed, but she hadn't updated. While I was there, I stopped the notifications altogether. I was already refreshing her page manically and would see anything Bella posted. Everything else was a distraction.

After deleting several pages of "Kiss me Wordy" blog response notifications in my inbox, I found what I was looking for.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: Confirmation

See you tomorrow at 5:30!

* * *

I focused on that exclamation mark like it was the fucking Holy Grail. Exclamation marks equaled excitement. They were positive. Things were good.

I pulled up the perpetually open window to her blog and allowed myself three refreshes before I shut down for the night. On the fifth reload of the page, a new post popped up.

The update was simple. A pair of hands shaped into a heart. Underneath it there was a single word. "Tomorrow!" I debated with myself for two seconds before responding.

_**Wordyb:**_ _I am tomorrow, or some future day, what I establish today. I am today what I established yesterday or some previous day. (James Joyce)_

I started thinking about the email she had sent. The only things she knew about me was what she'd seen. Golf. Peep Show. Church.

_Wife._

The exclamation point had become my entire focus. I didn't know if she was one of those people that threw around punctuation like birdseed, but I didn't think so. I wanted her to be excited, so I decided to just send her an email to tell her a little bit more, to show her that there was more to me than the pieces she'd seen.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: Confirmation

I have insomnia. Sometimes this means I have an idea working its way to the surface, but tonight, I think I'm excited for tomorrow.

I got the suede shoes in London. They look wrong, I know, but they're comfortable and I hate how sneakers look with jeans.

I write for a living, and which has basically cured me of wanting to write at all.

Mostly what I like to do is read.

I was on the basketball team in high school.

I have an inside-out white freckle on my back, which is called a _halo nevus._

I think that's basically all you need to know about me.

* * *

As usual, I read through it, fiddled a little and almost added the fact that toast was my favorite food, but stopped myself, not wanting to give too much away. Instead I told her that my favorite kinds of ice cream were tree flavors. And I asked her to tell five weird facts about her that nobody else knew.

I still wondered why she hadn't responded in so long and worried about what was going on, but managed to hold back from the self-destruction of asking her if she was mad at me. I settled for asking her how her day was, and hoped her answer would be specific.

_How was your day? I missed your words._

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: Confirmation

Isn't it ironic that you would note a day of silence from me? I was at a seminar all day, away from technology. It was at once liberating and frustrating not to have to pay attention in ten second segments, not to have to respond immediately to every single thing.

What are tree flavors?

Five weird things about me? I bat righty and I kick lefty (that's two). I cannot be beaten in Scrabble. And I can't think of anything else, but I think you already know more of my other weird things than most everyone else does.

Although, you're confusing, because it often feels like you're not saying what you're thinking, I look forward to reading your words as well.

I do sorta question the motivation of your enthusiasm for learning ASL, although I'm pleased that your interest has lasted this long. The silence is often too much for people, and I've gotten used to being a novelty. I'd also like to know what ideas you've got on your brain. Tell me how to understand you. Tell me I'm not your fetish.

I've become attached to those shoes.

See you tomorrow.

* * *

_Fetish. _

My head swam with the implications, and although I knew that was clearly not how I thought of her, I couldn't convey that in an email. I eventually passed out thinking of ways to show her that she was all encompassing.

**-o0o-**

My phone rang and almost woke me up. At first I imagined it was my alarm and relaxed back into my pillow. I smiled into it and thought about Bella's email. Her words made me think about her body. I pushed into the mattress, remembering what it felt like to have my hands around her waist, the softness of her chest as she pushed against me, the curve of her ass as I splayed my fingers. I gripped the crisp sheets and remembered her sweet, hot breath, the push and pull of our lips, and imagined what it would be to touch her skin, to finally run my mouth over the sixteen freckles on her back.

I thought of naming them. I thought of naming each of her freckles after stars, which made me think of Castor and Pollux, which made me think of the Seven Sisters, which made me think of Snow White and the Seven Dwarves, which was completely off track so I tried to focus.

_My girl. Soft. Willing. Naked._

I thought of her tits, which reminded me of ounces in a pound. The heat of her skin reminded me of fire, and the atomic number of sulfur. I thought of heat and saw candles on a cake, which reminded me of my sixteenth birthday, which was the day I got my driver's license, which also happened to be the day I started going out with Tanya.

The phone continued to ring and I woke up a little more and realized it was probably work calling. I picked it up in a panic. "G'morning," I said and cleared my throat.

"Did I wake you up?"

I looked at the clock.

_11:30. Shit._

"Nope."

"Did you get my note?"

I looked around for one of my mother's telltale post-its and spotted it on the lamp on the bedside table. I peeled it off and brought it close to my face, since I didn't have my contacts in. I squinted at the pink square to get the blurry images straight. _Fertilize front beds, weed blue stone on back walk, boxes in front hall to attic._ I could take care of moving the boxes but was going to have to ask forgiveness for everything else, since I did actually intend on getting work done from my "satellite office."

"Where are you?"

"I'm at my hair appointment. What are your plans for the day, dear?"

"I have to work, and then I have a 5:30 appointment."

"Did you see the note I left you?"

"Mom, I don't think I'm going to have a chance to fertilize the beds. I'm working."

She was quiet, and I knew she was annoyed. "Well, at least put the boxes in the front hall in the attic?"

"I will and I need to borrow your car later."

"I'm sorry dear, I'm meeting your father at the club for dinner." I could almost hear a little bit of self-satisfaction in her voice for being able to withhold the car, since I wasn't doing all the stupid shit on her little sticky note.

"I can drive you in to town."

"No, I need my car."

Definitely. She was definitely exacting her petty little revenge. "Can't Dad come and get you?"

"He has a consult at the hospital and then he's meeting me."

"When are you coming home? I'll rent one."

"Oh, hellooooo" she said, distracted. I heard her talking to someone else.

"Mom, when are you back? I'll rent one."

"Okay, sweetie, I'll talk to you later." Her voice had a little edge to it. "At least get the boxes up to the attic. Love you."

She hung up.

I called the rental place and promptly discovered there wasn't a single car available anywhere because there was a medical convention going on. In fact, there wasn't a hotel room to be had or a dinner reservation to be found either.

Shit.

I checked my online haunts before I got out of bed, but hadn't received anything from Bella since I'd gone to sleep. Things seemed to have leveled off, and I wondered if I could sneak another posting before I saw her.

Her pattern of posting on the blog late at night gave me the impression that she wasn't a morning person, but it was just as likely that she had early classes and was busy. I wondered if she could still be sleeping and imagined her face pressed into the pillow with her hair a wild mess. My body's reaction to that thought was instantaneous, and I jumped out of bed and hopped in the shower before I could consider the implications of jerking off in my childhood bed.

In contrast to the previous day, time flew by. I took my laptop out onto the porch, and in two hours, breezed through the same amount of work it would have taken me two days to complete in the office. I was amazed at my own productivity and considered trying to convince Yorkie that I never needed to come back to the office at all.

I distracted myself with work, all the while trying to figure out how I could convince my mother to let me use her car, or convince Emmett to get to town early so I could use his rental. I imagined showing up to see Bella on my bike, which was not happening, especially since I wanted to take her to dinner afterward, even though the fact that I couldn't get a reservation anywhere was another roadblock with which I had to contend.

The only hope I had to save me from riding through the drive-through with Bella on my handlebars was my brother.

When Jasper showed up at four, I was in a full on panic. Driving his truck was almost worse than riding a bike. He'd bought a 1923 Ford truck that was more often than not up on blocks in the garage. When it was working, it was like driving a lawn mower, although not quite as fast and twice as loud. I swallowed whatever was left of my pride though, and practically begged for it.

"Can I borrow your truck?"

He gave me a sad look, but the disappointment on my face must have looked worse.

"You got plans?"

"I have a meeting at 5:30 and then maybe dinner afterward."

"You got a date?"

"Sorta."

"You going with 'A Sorta Girl'?"

"Maybe."

"Take the Corn Rocket."

I rubbed the heels of my hands into my eyes. The idea of being seen pulling up to the school in a beat-up white delivery van with a picture of a tiny man riding an ear of corn tricked out to look like a spaceship was almost more than I could bear.

"How bad is your truck?"

"It's in pieces in the garage."

**-o0o-**

I parked the van in a far corner of the parking lot and distanced myself from it as quickly as possible. There were only a few other cars, and when I looked back at it, I realized the space I'd chosen made the idiotic thing more conspicuous rather than less.

I pushed through the middle set of the three double-hung doors at the front of the building. I imagined the influx of kids pushing through in the morning and the same crush of kids bailing at the end of day. But right now it was completely silent.

Bella had directed me to Room 203. I grabbed the first staircase I found and headed up, as nervous as I'd ever been on the first day of school in a new classroom.

_What if I couldn't do the work? What if the teacher hated me? What if I threw up? _

The last question seemed the most plausible when I found the room far too quickly. I stood outside the door and looked at my cell phone. I was two minutes early. The spring night was still reminiscent of winter, and the dark outside made the lights inside seem as though something extraordinary was taking place. Only parents and teachers ever got to see a school like this, or on the rarest of occasions, when some type of emergency struck, children might see the illuminated interior juxtaposed with the inky black of the exterior.

I was none of the above.

**-o0o-**

I held my breath and pushed the door open tentatively, but it swung open heavily of its own momentum. I caught it before it announced my presence with a bang.

Bella was sitting and reading at a grey metal teacher's desk at the far end of the room. She was radiant. Her skin was flushed as she looked at the page; her hair was reddish and shining. She was full of color, almost too much to take in. For a brief moment I thought of backing out, but when she looked up at me and smiled, all of my doubts were erased. I would take her as I found her, and I hoped she might do the same for me.

She stood and came around the desk, then leaned against the front. Her hoodie was fluorescent green and unzipped just enough so that if a person were tall enough, he could look down into her cleavage.

I was very glad I was tall.

Her polka yellow and orange dotted pants looked like they might be flannel, and almost as if they were pajama bottoms. There was a wide pink bow at her waist, which seemed to be connected to her pants. My eyes drifted down her legs. There were ruffles at the bottom, below which she wore the combat boots, which both comforted me and made my dick hard. She looked as though she might feel very comfortable running away with the circus, not as a clown, but as a carny – just another roadside attraction.

I didn't know what to say, so I said, "I like your, um, outfit."

She grinned and grabbed her pad, but shook her head. This took so much time. "I was at a teaching seminar on 'How to Keep Your Students' Attention.'"

I remembered the visual aids she had used to keep my attention and immediately rubbed my eyes to get rid of the images. "Did it work?"

She smiled and shrugged, considering me for a moment, then pushed herself off the desk and walked around to the blackboard and wrote a simple sentence. "Put your words away."

Even though she was in that fucking ridiculous costume, her hair was dark and thick and begged me to pull at it. The colors of the fabric drew me in and begged me to touch. She was beautiful, and I opened my mouth to tell her, but she wagged her index finger at me like a teacher. I heard her say, "Ah, ah, ah!" by the look on her face.

"I just wanted to tell you–" but she cut me off again with an arch of her brow.

"Let me just–" and she fucking snapped her fingers at me. I looked at my feet so she couldn't see me grin. I took this seriously, and I needed to show her that I was serious – not guffawing over stupid shit like the way the sound of her admonition echoed around the classroom before settling in my ears. I tried to get myself together and remembered what the pads of her fingertips looked like pressed against glass. This made me smile, but in a different way.

I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and dislodged one of my fucking contacts. I looked up, one eye closed, hoping I wouldn't have to go through the mortification of having to touch my eyeball in front of her. She was slightly out of focus but it seemed as though she was looking down, too – at my feet. Or more likely at my shoes. The Gods of Awkward Moments must have looked favorably on me, because my vision was restored entirely when she smiled.

I immediately composed myself and kept my mouth shut. I nodded at her, all business, and she grinned like she was the devil herself, because she knew what she'd just done. She had reinstated my equilibrium, simply by shutting me up.

She handed me the writing pad:

_I need to know where to begin. Show me what you already know._

My mind ran through the hours I'd spent practicing signs for every manner of banal word, but with her here in front of me I was drawing a blank. I wanted to impress her, but would settle for not completely embarrassing myself. Impossibly, I thought of Yorkie's stupid motto.

_First tell her what you're going to tell her, then tell her, and then tell her what you told her._

Absent anything else, it occurred to me this was a really good plan, but I figured it would be better to stick with the simple stuff. My hands moved instinctually, shaping the letters to the word they expressed on a continual loop.

B. E. L. L. A.

She rolled her eyes a little, but I saw the corner of her mouth lift up in the smallest of smiles.

"_More,_" she signed by pinching the fingertips of both hands closed and tapping them together a few times in front of her. They taught babies this one. I had it down, but "more" made me think of something else and suddenly that was all I could remember.

"_Want."_ I placed my palms up and extended my arms slightly, then pulled them back and curled my hands simultaneously. I wished I hadn't made the gesture the minute I had – it seemed overly familiar, and to be honest, slightly obscene, so I jumped to the next one.

I made the letter "P" and then with the same hand, circled my face and said, "Pretty." She frowned at me for saying the word, nodded her head prettily and proved me right. She made the sign for _"thank you"_ and smiled.

I probably knew a good two dozen more, but I blanked looking at her. I felt like an idiot, so I made the sign for "thank you," too. Then I had the brilliant idea to just copy everything she did, but stopped for fear she'd think I was mocking her. Time was ticking by and I had so much to say. Actually, I had nothing to say, other than I didn't want to be on the clock with her. _S_o I let my eyes tell her everything else.

She held my gaze and what I saw in her eyes shocked me. Bella was questioning my motives. She'd said as much in her email. Why I hadn't just written her a fucking fifty-page treatise on "Why I Was Legit" would forever remain a mystery, but there was no time like the present.

All of the wondering, all of the guesswork, all of the waiting over the last few weeks meant nothing because it was right now. I wanted to know what she thought, but I already did. She thought I was a pervert. I _was_ a pervert. But as these things go, I figured it just wasn't all that bad. She thought I was insincere about learning sign language and that I was just using it as a way to see her.

And she was right and wrong. The lessons weren't a pretense, I did want to learn, but I only wanted to learn so that I could understand her, so I could make her understand me. But I had words. This surprised me, and for once, I needed to make my... I looked around my mind for the right word and remembered the conversation with my brother from last night.

_Are your intentions honorable?_

_Yes,_ I thought to myself. _Yes, my intentions are honorable, Jasper, so go fuck yourself._

Suddenly I was sick of reading shit, writing shit, thinking shit, and talking shit. I was so fucking relieved that she was here, and seemingly happy to see me, and that was what I needed to tell her. Other than that, I didn't have anything to offer her, but I wanted her to at least know my intentions were honorable.

She wrote something else on the yellow pad and held it out to me, but I didn't want to see. I walked over to her and took the pad away without looking at it. I only had what we had always had. I stood as close as I could without making contact and didn't try to touch her. The zap of electricity between us filled in the minute space. Her hands, which were frozen in thought, dropped to her side. I stepped closer, because fuck the lesson.

I picked up her left hand with my right and brought her palm to my lips. "Bella," I whispered against it. Her eyes closed then opened. I kept her hand but dropped it to her side and didn't let go. She grinned nervously, and I let the awkwardness zip around the room.

_Screw it._

I had words. She could hear. It was the simplest way to get to her.

"Are you all right?"

She nodded.

"Are you okay with my being here?"

She grinned and nodded again.

"Do you trust me?"

She looked up beneath dark lashes. Her shrug of acknowledgement was not everything I had hoped for, but I understood. I wouldn't trust me either.

Her skin flushed and I felt the heat from her body in the tiny bit of space between us. She didn't say yes, but she didn't look like she wanted to say no. In any case, her body seemed to move infinitesimally forward rather than back, and I took that as an affirmation.

I leaned down to her mouth but didn't quite make contact. I needed to make sure she was with me and brought my lips to her temple.

"Bella." Her name was the most simple and complicated word I'd ever spoken. She closed her eyes and tilted her head up. Her cheek was soft and hot. I wanted to touch her hair, but I waited until I had permission. We both stayed very still.

"I want to kiss you," I whispered. "Is that okay?"

She didn't open her eyes, but when she breathed up at me, I took it as a yes.

Bella's mouth was a flower, a roly-poly bug, a whirligig. My mind struggled to find the words. "Bella," I whispered against her lips, but what I meant was, "I want you. I need you. I can't stay away from you. _More_." The sign came to me at the same time the word did, but I wasn't about to let go of her when I had a much more efficient mode of communication available.

I'd imagined this so many times, I was practically a veteran. We watched each other, wondering what the other would do. I looked at her lips, then back up at her expression. She waited while I watched, flicked her eyes at my mouth, then back to my eyes. When I couldn't stand it any more, I pulled her close, but as in everything else, she surprised me. I moved my mouth to hers but just before I could capture her top lip, she veered off and I got her chin. She leaned back slightly and smiled, then tilted her mouth up to me to make up for the fake.

I rubbed my nose against hers and just barely touched her lips with mine before turning at the last second to rub my face against her cheek. The whisper of her skin was too much, though, and I held her head in my hands and pressed hard against her mouth, then pulled back, just lightly, opening slightly, testing the waters. Her kiss was soft and hesitant, then more.

We played, nuzzling, teasing, tasting, and familiarizing ourselves with each other until it only made sense that our hands needed to play their part. Too fucking soon I didn't feel playful anymore. I felt focused and determined. I pushed her mouth open with my tongue and pulled at her lips gently with my teeth. I circled my hands around her waist, only just barely able to keep from crushing her into me. I felt the silk of the ridiculous bow and slid my hands along it. It was smooth and slippery.

She made a small sound, just a whisper of air and pushed back. She felt like a wild thing in my arms, trembling and determined. I needed her to know she was safe, and I pulled her face up so she could see how I felt. Her eyes looked worried.

"No, baby. It's okay. I promise I won't push you."

But I kissed her hard again because she needed to know. When I felt like maybe it was _pushy_, and almost too much for me to back out of comfortably, I broke away, but Bella shocked me by diving back in. I pulled my head back just slightly to look at her and grinned, then went back to her mouth, redoubling my efforts. Almost immediately, I felt her pulling back.

I expected it, but not the jarring as she shook her head in panic and looked with wild eyes around the room. She looked everywhere but at me. I loosened my arms without letting go. She reached down and picked up the yellow pad I'd put on the desk.

I watched her write. "I'm sorry. I can't do this–"

I put my hand on hers and stopped her. I shook my head. "It's okay. I'm sorry."

She frowned at me. I made the mistake of looking at the clock on the wall. We'd been in this room just over half an hour, and already I was all over her. I didn't know which of us was physical, which of us was verbal. Who was supposed to be using words, who was supposed to be using hands, I only knew that she needed to be with me and we needed time to figure it out. She wrote the rest of the sentence and turned the paper for me to read. She bit her lip, cheeks stained pink. "Here. I can't do this in my classroom."

I wondered if my frantic behavior would change if suddenly time stretched out before us and I didn't always feel like I was in a race against it. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and pretended for a moment that was the case, that we had met like normal people.

Would normal people be making out at work?

Of course not, but with the idea came the image of her sitting on top of my desk. I heard the sound of my pens as they spilled across the surface when I pushed her hips back. Paper clips strewn like spent confetti skidded under my palm as I struggled to keep my weight off of her as I leaned down. I saw her hair tangled with Post-Its and sticky tack. I saw my rubber band ball roll away and bounce to the floor. I felt the keyboard under my hand as I lifted her up to get closer to her. In my mind, she was already half undressed and my hands had free reign over the skin of her chest, my lips molded to the curve of her neck as she helped me own every surface of the space in which I'd wallowed and spent too much time needing her.

When I thought of the repercussions of a liaison in my cube of an office, I snapped back to present time and realized my transgression when I looked at her face. I'd come all this way worried about protecting her, and yet seemed determined to be her downfall with my lack of restraint.

I might always be frantic for her, but I couldn't keep putting her in a position that could potentially destroy everything in her life. I wanted to be a part of that life.

Both of our cell phones went off at once, and we both looked up. Mine hummed in my pocket. Hers rang a happy sound and vibrated across her desk. She looked at me curiously, stepped back, and checked the message. She tilted her head as she read, made a little snorting sound then shook her head at whatever it was. It took everything in me not to check my alert, but I had more pressing issues.

Like how I had to get her out of here and convince her to come to dinner with me. I hoped she trusted me just a little, just enough to get us somewhere we could talk. Or whatever it was that we did. I needed to explain the shitstorm that I'd brought upon us and try to spend enough time with her so that she could see me for me, and maybe let me see a little more of her.

Bella pushed away from me a little more. The room was silent except for our panting breaths and the ticking of the clock. The minutes shuddered past. It was one of those sturdy school clocks with the big white face and large, glossy black numbers. No batteries – that shit was hard wired and only a total loss of power would stop those hands. Nuclear winter. The steady click wouldn't let me forget that these moments with Bella were in short supply.

Same as fucking always.

I let go of her and made the sign for "eat," fingers of my right hand closed together and touched my lips, then asked her out loud in case there was any room for doubt. "Will you have dinner with me?"

Her brow furrowed as she considered my request. I hoped she wasn't thinking of a way to let me down gently, debating between a shake of her head or a thumbs down. I head my breath waiting for my sentence.

She looked up and met my eyes, and gave me a nod.


	8. 8

I helped Bella into her coat. When she finished stuffing her books and things into a book bag, I carried it. I held the door, not to impress her, but because that's what I was taught to do and it was almost mechanical. The cold air outside snapped me into reality. She seemed under-dressed for the weather and suddenly too slight. I wanted to pull her against me and feel her tremble from the chill and the possibility of what might be coming next. My mind taunted me with images of push and pull, soft and hard, but I didn't know who might be watching from another building, and didn't want to be disrespectful, so I satisfied myself with holding her hand.

We both stopped at the bottom of the concrete steps and looked at the almost-empty parking lot.

The Corn Rocket was the only vehicle left. I held my head high and trudged toward it, half pulling her, half expecting her to stop dead in her tracks when she saw where we were headed. I wasn't surprised when she did.

I looked at her, ready for the reaction. She crossed her arms at her chest and ducked her head down as if she was trying to hide.

"Bella," I said, mentally preparing my defense: _Couldn't get a rental car; Mom wouldn't give me a ride; the tires on my bike were flat. _She turned toward me. Her face was flushed and her eyes sparkled with amusement. She let out a little gasp, which condensed into a puff in the night air. The tiny sound seemed to embarrass her, and she covered her mouth with her hand.

She was laughing. It was beautiful.

I looked at the white van. She was right to laugh. It was ridiculous and wrong in so many ways. It was so funny looking and something else... The word flitted around in my head before landing squarely in the center of my brain. It looked _suspicious_, exactly like the vehicle that seemed to be used for every abduction, bank robbery, or terrorist plot I'd ever read about. It was the kind of thing that the police issued APBs about, at least on TV.

_Be on the lookout for a beat-up white Ford Econoline cargo van with a painting of a tiny man in a sombrero riding a large piece of corn on its side._

All of a sudden I was irrationally pissed that she would put herself at risk like this. She didn't know me, and the little bit of information she did have was sketchy at best. What the fuck was wrong with her? She should be running in the opposite direction, screaming her head off.

The impossibility of which made me even angrier.

"You're just going to get into this van and go somewhere with me?"

She gave me a confused smile and nodded.

"Without even knowing where we're going?"

She made the sign for eat. She made my mouth water – a delicious irony.

"What if I'm planning to kidnap you? What if I'm a murderer? You don't just get into cars with strangers."

She frowned. Out came the pad. I was getting pretty fucking good at reading upside down and shook my head "no" before she even finished her thought.

"_Though you are strange, I know you a little bit. And FYI, I don't make a habit out of getting into cars with strangers."_

I felt a small sense of relief at her admission that she didn't get into cars in strangers, but my voice was still louder than it needed to be. "You _don't_ know me. You know golf, church, and a show. You said that yourself. Don't get into cars with golf, church, and show guys, Bella. _Especially_ show guys."

"_I know butter pecan, maple walnut, and pistachio, too."_

"I'm pretty positive that psychopaths eat ice cream."

"_You don't know me, either."_

"I know -" I stopped myself because I was too frazzled to remember what I was supposed to know and what I wasn't since mostly everything I knew about her I'd found out through my less-than-honorable research. I swallowed and said, "I know that I am twice your size."

She grinned. _"Psychopaths don't have to be big and strong."_

"Actually, I think those are requirements."

How, after all my maneuvering to get her alone, was I trying to convince her that she needed to stay away? And why did it feel like she was throwing all caution to the wind and flirting on top of it? If I really was a psychopath, this could be her death warrant.

"Please call someone to let them know what you're doing." The subject and the pronoun didn't agree, and even though it was colloquial, it bugged me. Nevertheless, I stopped myself from saying it correctly_: Please make a call and let someone know what you're doing._

She smirked and pulled out her phone. Her thumbs flew over the keypad. When she was done she held the phone out to me with a snarky look on her face. I read the message.

* * *

To: Fr. Peter Riley

Cc: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: My whereabouts

Dear Father,

Edward Cullen would like me to make you aware of the fact that I am going out to dinner with him tonight. Should he go missing or wind up the victim of foul play, please alert the authorities that he was last seen with me.

See you tomorrow, one way or the other.

Bella

* * *

I read the email and frowned. "It's not funny. You need to be careful."

She nodded her head "yes" and smiled, then patted the side panel of the van like it was a horse. It made a hollow, echoing sound.

I unlocked the passenger door and yanked it open. It was heavy and the hinges groaned in protest. She climbed in, and I felt the twisting of her body as if she was in my arms. She leaned out to pull it shut with both hands, while I pushed to make sure it closed all the way.

I stood there for a moment, taking in the unreal vision of her sitting in the ridiculous van, looking at me from behind yet another pane of glass, smiling. Without makeup on, she looked very young. _"Lock it,"_ I mouthed to her through the window and pointed down at what I wanted her to do. She smiled brightly and pushed the button before scooting to the other side to unlock my door.

I climbed in and shook my head in disappointment. "If I unlock your door and then you slide over and unlock mine, it cancels my chivalry."

She smirked and made the letter "s" with her right hand and circled her heart with it once. I watched her mouth say the word "sorry," but her eyes were twinkling.

"Funny how sarcasm comes across just find without sound," I said. Sarcastically.

When she beamed at me, it felt like a flashlight was being shined directly into my eyes.

The bench was so deep that her feet only just reached the ground. The seat belt was old and dingy across her chest. The upholstery smelled deeply of mold – like the windows had been left open during a rainstorm and it had never dried out properly.

I repeated her sign and said, "I'm sorry if I sounded harsh a moment ago. I worry."

She flattened her hand and put it near her lips, then moved it in my direction. I knew it wasn't but I liked to imagine she was blowing me a kiss and watched her mouth make the words "thank you."

"Worrying is my super power," I said and turned the key in the ignition. The engine hacked. She leaned back against the seat and dissolved into quiet laughter again. On the third try, I patted the dashboard a few times, rubbing it back and forth soothingly. Dust got all over the palm of my hand. It was powdery and yellow, like pollen. I showed it to Bella and her eyes went wide. I remembered her Holi post and closed my fist, then leaned toward her. "Excuse me," I said and dug a napkin out of the glove box.

The only thing that soothed the indignity of this moment was the fact that she seemed to be enjoying it. It was a small victory, but I took it. Eventually the motor thrummed into life, but I cringed as I shifted into reverse, because I knew what would come next. When the steady beep of the reverse alert rang out in the otherwise silent cab, Bella hugged herself in glee.

I tried to keep my eyes on the road and focused on getting us off campus without running over any curbs or mailboxes. I didn't stare at her too much until we were on the main road.

She sat sideways against the slippery vinyl. Her head was against the back of the seat. She slouched toward forward and away at the same time, practically challenging me to touch her, which was not the kind of offer I would to turn down.

_If only I were sure._

Her hair was kind of messy and pushed up in back. Her cheeks were flushed, and she looked satisfied and happy. I imagined that if I ever had the chance to make her come, she would look like that. I was determined to keep that look on her face and increase my chances of finding out. I didn't want to say anything stupid and break the spell so I took a deep breath and loosened up on the steering wheel when I exhaled.

When we stopped at a red light, she handed me the pad. _"It suits you."_

"It's my brother's. He finds great joy in my humiliation. You'd like him."

She shook her head and scribbled quickly, showing the pad to me. _"Not the car. The quiet." _She smiled and blushed. Her eyes drew me in, and I wondered how many people talked to fill up her silence. In fact, the quiet of the car was so comfortable that words would have been an imposition.

I looked at her mouth and willed her to kiss me.

_Kiss me._

_Kiss me._

_Kiss me._

I imagined sliding my fingers, slowly, up under her sweatshirt. _Drifting up. My lips caressing hers. Pulling her over to me, across the seat, into my lap. Pulling her hips forward as she slid against me._

An air horn blast pulled me out of my head.

A fucking semi was so far up my ass that I wondered if he could see the front seat. He pulled into the passing lane and blew past us. I tried to pay closer attention to the traffic, but I had a one-track mind and it drifted back to Bella.

_Let me touch you, _I thought, but it was more like prayer.

I drove in a trance for a while until it dawned on me that I had no idea where I was taking her. The buildings got shorter and shorter as we neared the town line, past where the hipsters and artists had taken over and converted old buildings into galleries and cupcake shops, past the part of town where most buildings hadn't had a face lift in decades, almost out to the old airport.

There was only one restaurant on this side of town that I could remember. It was across the street from one of the old hangars, and we certainly wouldn't need a reservation. I hadn't been there since high school, when it had been my first choice for special occasion dining since it was open late and I always got served.

The sign for the restaurant towered over the building, so it could be seen from the highway – or maybe from the planes that once flew overhead. I imagined some old insurance executive looking back as he took off for wherever insurance executives went, thinking, "When I get back, I'm going to Sizzler to get myself a nice budget steak." I tried to remember the tag line, but all of these places had the same shitty, generic advertising.

I hoped that the same part of her that liked tattoos from gum wrappers and found humor in this ridiculous van would appreciate it. The parking lot was surprisingly full. I counted at least six Lincoln Town Cars while looking for a space, and knew that the other patrons would be decidedly senior – and not the kind from prom. I remembered the line and said it to her.

"Welcome to Sizzler, 'Where America comes to eat.'"

Her lips curved into a smirk as I watched her write: _"You are a man of taste and distinction."_

"I'm not ashamed to find joy in places others overlook."

Her face softened at my remark. I'd meant to be clever, but I think she heard more than I'd intended, and maybe more than what I'd truly meant to say. I didn't want to make her feel awkward or like some kind of oddity, so I traced the side of her face with the pads of my fingers.

Bella responded by leaning into my hand and molding her cheek to my palm, assuring me she wasn't so fragile. Her tongue peeked out against her bottom lip before retreating as she pulled her lip between her teeth. If not for the look in her eyes, I'd have thought she did these things to drive me insane. I _was_ insane. I wanted her so fucking badly.

She closed her eyes and heaved a sigh, then turned her face into my hand and pressed her lips to my palm. It felt like acceptance, like an invitation. I took it.

I kissed her gently, suppressing the urge to pull at her lips with my teeth and suck on her tongue. I pushed her back just slightly because I was just as happy to turn the fucking van around and take her home. She pushed me back gently and made a sign that I thought was "wish."

"Wish?" I asked, because I knew what I wished. She smiled sweetly and shook her head. She made the sign again and I watched her mouth say _"want you."_ And I leaned in toward her. "I want you, too."

Her smile was so bright, but she shook her head "no," and wrote on her pad._ "Hungry. Same sign as 'wish.'"_

I silently said both things, focusing on the movements of my mouth. I had to make almost the same movements for "want you" as I did for "hungry," or at least I told myself I did. I remembered getting Jasper in trouble with the Mrs. when I'd taught him that "vacuum," when repeated silently, looked just like "fuck you."

His punishment was to vacuum the entire house.

I told Bella that story, then worried that maybe it was inappropriate, but on the other hand, she already knew how inappropriate I could get, and I suspected she knew how much more inappropriate I wanted to be.

She grinned, then dug around in her bag, looking for something. I watched in fascination as she dug out a little pot of lip-gloss and dipped her pinky into it, then smeared the pink on her mouth without looking in a mirror. I had never seen a girl do that without a mirror before.

"You're beautiful."

She grinned.

"Really beautiful."

She shrugged and nodded her head in a "let's go" motion.

The hostess took us to a seat near a window that overlooked the parking lot. It was all dark paneling and dim lights, inordinately large peppermills on every table. The crowning glory of the room was a well-lighted salad bar with an immaculate sneeze guard.

The waiter took our order, and Bella pointed at what she wanted the same way Tanya always did. I told the waiter what I wanted, and he looked at me as if I was speaking in tongues. After the second attempt, I just pointed at what I wanted, too.

We took turns going up to get salad. I watched as she picked up food with the tongs. The white-green of the iceberg lettuce. The shiny roundness of the cherry tomatoes. The bright light reflected back at her and made her otherworldly. She made her way around, and I shook my head at her as she tried three times to pick up the watermelon with the tongs before finally just grabbing a slice with her fingers.

When she came back, I went up and was immediately flanked by a woman in a walker, whom I let go in front because she seemed to be in a hurry. A pushy lady with a loud voice stepped up behind me, and the three of us immediately became a traffic nightmare of slow, fast, and can't reach. On top of it, I couldn't help but scan the Plexiglas for subtle signs of sneezing – and made a mental note to look up the official name of that thing, because there was no way that it was really called a "Sneeze Guard," with a registered trademark and shit.

The third time the woman behind me bumped my arm, I said, "Excuse me," in a not very polite voice. She didn't even give me a second glance as she dug around in the taco fixings. I wondered why anyone would have tacos before a steak dinner, but became engrossed at the ineffectiveness of the way the woman in the walker was poking at some olives.

I decided to take the matter into my own hands, so I could get the fuck out of this line and back to Bella.

I leaned down to the woman and asked if I could help. She smelled like perfumed paper and smiled sweetly, and we made it around the rest of the way with me pointing at things with tongs while simultaneously managing not to kill the woman behind me who continued to shove her plate against mine. She'd even managed to rub her ass against my leg when she bent over to pick up a hard boiled egg she'd dropped.

Dinner with Bella was a world of sound and meaning, but we were mostly silent to everyone else. I signed the few words I could, and made do with a combination of gestures, notes on her pad, facial expressions, and talking when I had no other way to express myself. Bella was more than adept at getting her points across, and I started to think that sign language was intuitive as much as it was conceptual. It wasn't just that gestures replaced words – it was a system of thought and reasoning all on its own.

Mostly I watched her eat, fascinated as she took a little bite of everything on her plate. I grinned thinking how much Esme would appreciate this fact. My mother spent at least a few minutes during every meal reminding one or all of us not to shove all of one thing down before moving on to the next, which is the way my father, brother, and I ate.

She alternated sips of water with sips of wine. When she swallowed, I saw the tiny white scars on her throat. She traced the shape of my hand with her steak knife. I wanted to ask about her voice, and what I assumed were injuries, but since she hadn't responded when I'd asked her before, I guessed it was a sensitive issue and didn't bring it up.

I'd turned off my cell phone before we'd even left the school, but Bella peeked at hers from time to time. Occasionally her eyebrows gathered in the center. She looked amused more than worried, but something else occurred to me, and I asked her about talking on the phone in case of emergencies. She told me a bit about relay services but admitted to being completely addicted to the internet. Communicating via email and instant message meant she could come across the same as everyone else without the delay that was inevitable with TDD.

I told her that I liked that she wasn't like everyone else, and she fucking mouthed the word "weirdo" at me. At least, I thought that's what she said. In any case, she smiled, and I decided not to ask for clarification. Instead I fumbled through finger spelling, "Can I have your number?"

She shrugged and held her hand out for my phone, which made me nervous, because I didn't want her to accidentally notice the alerts that were no doubt piling up in my inbox, too. So, I held my hand out for hers instead, and she gave it to me without question. This "without question" thing still bothered me, but I decided that as long as she was with me, everything would be fine, and that I'd figure everything out later.

Crisis averted, we ordered dessert and I watched her spoon strawberry shortcake into her mouth until I thought I'd go blind. At some point, I realized the couple two tables away were having a conversation about us. They looked like they were on a date or something.

"...and can you believe what she's wearing," said the woman, not even bothering to lower her voice. When the dude responded with, "Maybe she's blind, too," Bella shook her head at me slightly. I stood, took three steps to them, put my hands on their table, and leaned over to ask if he'd like to repeat what he'd just said.

They stammered out lame-ass apologies, and I sat back down. Bella made the sign for "thank you" again and I said, "No problem." They paid their check and got the fuck out. I wondered if this was a common occurrence for her. We sat quietly for a while, until Bella raised her eyebrows and gave me the one-second finger while she dug in her bag. She handed me a black marble composition book and a sheet of paper that said.

_Lesson #1: Over the next week, spend an hour time with other people. Don't use your words for one hour. Sign if you can get your point across, but feel free to use any means available. Write your observations down each day and bring it to the next class._

I grinned. The empty pages of the notebook sang under my fingers. I clicked my pen back and forth. It took almost everything I had not to write something in it immediately. She smiled.

"I have to bring this to class next week?"

She nodded.

"So, I'm invited back for another lesson?"

She nodded.

"Will you have dinner with me afterward?"

"_If you do your homework,"_ she wrote.

_You have no idea how much homework I am willing to do for you, Miss Swan._

The waiter brought Bella's leftovers wrapped in an aluminum foil swan and she laughed. The airy, raspy noise was more like a husky hum.

Something occurred to me.

"Is Bella Swan your real name?"

She made a gesture with her hands that could only be described as "what the fuck?" then wrote: "_Is Edward Cullen your real name?" _She circled the word "your" about five times with her pen.

"No," I joked. She knew I was kidding, but it occurred to me that this would be an opportune time to tell her about my little alias. Like every other touchy subject that came up, though, I pushed it off until I could figure out a way to manage the situation without her flipping out.

-o0o-

After dinner, we walked back to the van. It was still ugly as fuck, but I had a certain fondness for it now. Bella leaned against the side and I kissed her. The warmth of her lips, the cold metal under my hands, the feeling of her hands on my chest got all confused in my head. I held her cheeks, which flamed in my palms and kissed her hard. I heard the sound of footsteps and keys, and realized we were in public, under a streetlight, making out like teenagers.

Which was totally unacceptable, so I got us into the van as best I could without letting her go. She slid over, I got in right behind her, and before I knew it, we were in a car... in public, under a streetlight, making out like teenagers.

I kissed her hard and a little greedily. I didn't know whether dinner was a success or just a formality, but it felt like finally the walls could come down. I pulled her onto my lap. I said the things that were in my head. They were basic enough, but I meant them.

_Want. Need. Ache. Miss. Dream._

With a few expletives thrown in for good measure.

I moved her so that she was sitting on top of me, her legs parted, our centers aligned. I glanced in the rear view mirror. There were a few burlap bags in the back, and a whole lot of corn silk, but even if we weren't parked outside Sizzler, I wasn't taking her back there.

_I need to take you home._

She pulled away and gave me a curious look.

"I said that out loud?"

She nodded her head.

"It's getting late."

She nodded.

"You have class."

She nodded.

"I have a meeting in the morning."

She snarled her fingers in my hair and kissed me again. Her lips had a soft, slow rhythm – insistent and hypnotizing.

_God..._

I kissed her harder. More demandingly. I wanted her so badly it made any other want pale in comparison. We were all over each other, caressing, stroking, rubbing... I loved the way she felt, but it wasn't just that. I was completely turned on by her. All of her. Little by little, the pieces were coming together, and she electrified me.

My hand drifted further up, across her soft skin. She had magnificent breasts. My hands slid over them and brushed teasingly over her nipples, which were already hard. I moved one hand down to the small of her back, and she arched as I touched her.

I pulled my mouth away from hers, feeling the reluctance of her lips to let me go. Her eyes were dreamy. Her mouth was puffy. I kissed and licked, then forced myself back. My tongue felt heavy and thick when I spoke.

"I want you," I said. "I want to be inside you and I don't want to hold back, but something tells me I should."

-o0o-

The drive back to her place wasn't just quiet. It was silent. I had her nestled against me while we drove, but I didn't know what to do next. It had seemed that the right thing to do was to take her home and let this build up the way a normal relationship would.

_Not that I had a fucking clue what that would entail._

I parked in front of her cottage. She was already out of the car before I could open her door. I kissed her on the porch, hoping she would ask me inside. I leaned in to kiss her and tell her that I couldn't wait until next Wednesday, which so true a statement of fact that I immediately started thinking about the different ways I could get in touch with her, including video chat, in addition to the fact that I was already planning on coming up Tuesday night again so I might convince her to have dinner with me then, too.

_And maybe breakfast._

Her cell phone rang out a different alert than the one it had made earlier, and Bella pulled away from me to look at it. I snuck a glance and we both read Peter's response at the same time.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Fr. Peter Riley

Cc: Edward Cullen

Re: re: My whereabouts

Duly noted. Give Edward my best. Are you going to his parents' dinner party on Friday?

God bless.

Pete

* * *

"You were invited?"

She nodded slowly.

"Are you going?"

She shrugged her shoulders. I looked at her and realized that I might have met her at my parents' house even if I hadn't met her before. She started to look a little worried at my hesitation which could probably be interpreted differently than the shock I felt.

"I want you to go. With me. Will you?"

She smiled brightly.

"Really? You'll go with me?"

She nodded again, and I kissed her, backing her up to her door. In the process, I scraped against her mailbox. The lid tinged and scratched my arm. We were so tight into each other that when she moved her head back just slightly to accommodate me, she banged it against the wood, which made the knocker knock. We both took a breath and looked at each other.

"Early meeting," I reminded her.

She nodded.

"And you have class," I reminded myself.

She nodded.

"And if I don't leave right now, we will both be very sorry about it in the morning."

She gave me a resigned look and stuck her key in the door. I held her other hand and when she tried to go inside, I pulled her back and kissed her.

"Very sorry in the morning."

Her breathy laugh did things to me.

"Very, very sorry."

She kissed me, and for some fucking reason I opened my eyes and looked into her house. I saw her laptop. I imagined what she'd do when I left, which almost made it completely impossible to leave.

But I did, with the promise of Friday night and next Wednesday.

-o0o-

I made it through the gauntlet of my parents and brother, then crashed into my bed. It occurred to me briefly that I hadn't checked messages in hours, which was so unlike me. I was less interested in whatever might be coming at me from the outside world, including the meeting I had the next morning, than I was in repeating every single minute of the last five hours.

_With a few edits._

I fantasized that I'd walked into her house unexpectedly and discovered her at the computer, reading my words on the screen.

She's on the couch, concentrating on my words, gazing at the screen, drinking me in. She doesn't have the clown outfit on anymore. She's wearing a shirt, but it's unbuttoned and I can see the lace of her bra. One hand slips inside, and she touches herself as she reads, then slips it back out occasionally to scroll down the page. I can't see it, but I imagine her other hand is between her thighs, her breath increases as my words bring her closer and closer to orgasm.

I'm watching from the doorway – I'm tempted to watch her come, but she hears me, and looks embarrassed, guilty of being caught. She blushes a little, but I smile and move up close and slide my fingers through her hair, leaning over to kiss her mouth, sensually, slowly, showing her how much it turns me on to see her like this – back to the way we started, almost – but more.

I started to unbutton my jeans, but changed my mind. Instead of touching myself, I reached for the laptop and sent my words to her.

* * *

**A/N: **Thank you to Wonderwallthefirst, Sweetdulci for pre-reading and as always, to ElleCC for all good things and asking that Edward not lick the side of the van.


	9. 9

I woke up to the clattering of pots and pans in the kitchen and pulled the pillow over my head to muffle the noise, but from under the downy darkness I realized it was really bright in the room. Too bright, in fact.

_Holy shit. The time._

I grabbed blindly for my phone from the bedside table but it wasn't there, and then for my glasses, which weren't there either. I felt around the bed and found both; the frames were bent from being slept on; the cell phone was dead.

I jumped out of bed, ran to the kitchen and scared the shit out of my mother who was unloading the dishwasher. She was talking on the phone, and I almost clotheslined myself on the cord when I skidded into the room.

"What time is it?" I coughed out.

"Hang on a sec, Mags," she said into the phone and gave me her morning smile, the one in which all of the prior day's transgressions seemed to have been forgotten. "Do you want a toad in the hole?"

"No, nonononono. Mom, you don't understand. What time is it?"

I didn't wear a watch, because that was what cell phones were for. She didn't wear a watch either but looked at her wrist anyway like she was figuring it out, grinned at me. "It's a hair past a freckle," she laughed, and turned back to the phone.

The stove clock had been wrong since I was in middle school, and if you got close enough to it, you could hear that the buzzer was almost always about to go off, but never did. I grabbed the egg timer, which was no help in the fucking slightest, then ran into the family room and looked at the cable box.

8:10 a.m.

Not good.

The presentation this morning was at ten, which left me plenty of time to get there, but I was scheduled to meet Emmett and Lauren in the cafeteria in the building so we could go over everything one last time. Make sure we had handouts, pens, the fucking dongle.

_Mother fucking shit._

I dug through my bag and found the power cord to my phone, plugged it in and saw more messages in my inbox than was possible for me to contemplate. I squinted through my glasses, which were smudged and felt lopsided on my ears. I opened the most recent text from Emmett, which had come in about ten minutes before.

"_Where the fuck are you? Yorkie is here. We're in the cafeteria."_

No. Not possible. The morning turned upside down so horrifically that I started imagining symptoms of very real illness, both mental and physical.

I hauled my ass into the shower and got dressed. I'd managed to pack without bringing saline solution, and my contacts were shriveled in the shot glasses I'd stowed them in before bed. I tried to twist my glasses back into shape, tie my tie and buckle my belt all at the same time. I grabbed the travel mug my mother had ready for me as I blasted through the kitchen, gave her a quick kiss goodbye and heard her say, "Just like your father" as I blew out the door.

In the driveway I stopped dead. There was the Corn Rocket and there was Esme's car. I turned to go back inside, ready to beg on my hands and knees for the Volvo, to squeeze out tears if it came to that, but my mother was standing on the back porch. She chucked her keys at me and though I had to duck to avoid being clocked, I caught them just off the side of my head.

"Have a nice day, Edward."

"Love you, Mom. Thanks."

-o0o-

I suffered through Emmett's displeasure, but Yorkie's excitement was worse. I hung back with Lauren, playing the good guy and helping her lug everything up to the boardroom, which was where we were scheduled to present. While I was hooking the projector to my laptop, Emmett walked over and whispered in my ear, "Hope you got Plan B ready, Duardo."

"What?"

His eyes were deadly, but just as he opened his mouth to give me details, the clients walked in: Newton, the gaggle of senior managers on the team, the General Manager of the Division and J. Scott Jenks, MD. Dr. Jenks was the President, the CEO, one of my father's oldest friends and constant opponent in the war on medicine versus healthcare. Jasper called him "Jenksy," because one of my mother's friends had tipsily called him that one late night during a party at the house. This always made me laugh for some reason, but I told myself not to trip up and call him that, too.

After introductions we got right into it. Emmett looked more serious than I'd ever seen him before. Lauren was on her game. Other than the fact that my hair was still slightly damp from the shower, and my glasses were giving me a case of vertigo, I felt like I was in control. If only Yorkie didn't look so fucking pleased with himself, I could almost feel confident.

_But that shit was unnerving._

Sometimes I found it helpful to have a little distance between my words and me. The process of forgetting made them fresh when I had to speakand it helped me fool myself into believing that I was being sincere. So, while I'd started the day way behind, I was starting to catch up. I was still slightly edgy, but a little case of nerves tended to help - because I knew there was nothing worse than a cocky son of a bitch in a nice suit and tie pontificating from the front of the room, even if his glasses were crooked on his face.

However.

What I'd failed to remember was that we didn't have to present two concepts. We had to present three, a fact I hadn't even considered until I wrapped everything up and Eric Yorkie leaned forward to say, "And now for the big idea."

I swear to fucking god my soul exited my body. I watched myself wither in front of ten men in suits, three women, also in suits, and a couple of interns sitting in extra chairs along the side of the room looking like their underwear was three sizes too small.

I opened my mouth to segue into what was sure to be the last presentation of my career, when Yorkie stood. "Why don't you let me take this one, Eddie," he said and strode to the front of the room. I took his seat, which was next to Emmett, who immediately reached over and gave my hand a squeeze in solidarity. I wondered if he would mind if I hung on to it for the rest of the meeting, but what I really wanted to do was to put my head on his shoulder and sob.

When the devastation was complete, the room was silent. Everyone in the room slid their eyes to Jenksy to see what he thought, too afraid of being wrong to voice their own opinions. He nodded his head, giving nothing away. "I'd like to hear what the team's reaction is before I share my thoughts."

_Statesmanship at its finest._

One by one, from least to most, we listened to comments that started out with strategy, moved on to branding, then focused completely on revenue and volume, just like every other business I'd ever worked on. Whether it was toothpaste, toilet paper or technology, profit was always the end game. If anyone in the room had a clue about the meaning of "Friends with Benefits" they didn't let on Apprehension about sharing their guts in front of senior management, and being seen as foolish in front of peers, overshadowed any ability to speak truth to power. In the process, all three ideas were pushed toward the center until I was sure we'd wind up with a generic concept and a Chinese menu of tactical options that was easy to swallow and infinitely meaningless.

_Death by a thousand cuts._

When everyone in the room had had a chance to hold forth, J. Scott Jenks, President and CEO of one of the world's largest insurance companies, hobnobber of governors and senators, swinger of the longest drive in the history of the golf club, tormentor of my lovely father, flirter of my mother's bridge club, focused his steely blue eyes on Emmett and me. "What's your recommendation?"

Yorkie stepped right up. "I'm so glad you asked -"

Jenks held his hand up without looking at him, continuing to hold our eyes. "I'd like to hear from your creative team."

Most creative directors I'd worked with, having been beaten down one too many times by clueless clients, might have equivocated and made the case for each concept in the hope that one of them would sell-in. Most of them would have also let the head of account service, which had been me until Yorkie hijacked the plane, manage this part of the meeting. Emmett was not most CDs though, and when he put his elbows on the table and leaned forward, I felt the tiniest bit of relief - until he said, "I think you should go with the third idea."

By the time he was done, however, he'd managed to show why it was crucial to focus on the human element - and why it was critical for employees and corporations alike to see their insurance funders and healthcare providers as partners, not adversaries - and how we were all part of each other's well-being. On top of this, Emmett turned Yorkie's inane idea around to show how effective shock value was in helping people to think differently.

Unbelievable bullshit turned into incontrovertible truth.

_I wanted to marry him._

When he was done, Jenksy stood and applauded, followed by the rest of the team. I felt punch drunk. I think I even giggled when he shook my hand and said unexpectedly, "Nicely done, Edward. Will I see you at your parents on Friday?"

"Yes you will, sir. See you then."

I don't know whose eyes were bigger, Yorkie's or Newton's.

Newton took the opportunity to invite Emmett and me to a meeting later that day in which the new products team was going to outline "proprietary offerings." Yorkie took the opportunity to try and wrangle an invite to my parents' house for dinner. I wanted to punch him in the throat. There was no fucking chance of that, but I did invite Emmett, after Newton had left us alone and Yorkie had excused himself to make the call to his boss to let her know about his triumph.

Emmett accepted the invite on the condition that Lauren would take care of Rose. When she agreed, she looked slightly less aghast than I thought she should have. While she didn't seem like the type of chick who was interested in getting her "MRS" degree, I guessed I didn't know her all that well, and filed the info away for future comment.

She gave me a look and said, "By the way, Edward, nice glasses. They make you look smart."

Emmett said, "You're welcome," and smacked me on the back.

-o0o-

Lauren went back to the city with Yorkie. The rest of the afternoon passed in a series of sterile meeting rooms in which anemic looking managers detailed the new program. Mike buddied up with us as though he were hanging in the back of the bus with the cool kids. I took a lot of notes without really listening or understanding the complicated terminology, and Emmett drew fucked up pictures in the margins of my pad. Each time he did, I scratched them out so Newton wouldn't see.

I checked my blackberry continuously, as did every other person in the room. There were literally hundreds of messages notifying me that my posts to Bella had been reblogged, which I erased. The cursory search for any new news on Forbidden and Wordyb turned up nothing new. I sent Bella an email to let her know how much I enjoyed seeing her last night.

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: Status Update

Hey. I am in a brightly lit room, without windows, learning all about things that I have no interest in learning. If I don't look at the clock or the cell, I couldn't tell whether it was day or night. It's like being in Vegas without the strippers.

The only thing I can think about is you. Remember when I told you we would be sorry this morning if I came inside? Guess what? I am sorry anyway. Incredibly. On the other hand, you didn't invite me in, so I guess my point is moot.

Are we still on for Friday night? I don't have details, but it's dinner, which probably means seven. And it's my family, which definitely means insane.

Tell me what you're doing.

Edward

* * *

I typed and erased a rambling last sentence about strippers, because I wasn't about to talk about that with her unless we were having a face-to-face conversation, and then I looked at the word "moot."

It had taken me the longest fucking time to understand what that word meant - to understand whether it meant "arguable" or "inarguable" and I still wasn't sure I understood it. The need to assert at the same time it made sense just to walk away. The concept hurt my brain like no other word I'd ever encountered.

Then it occurred to me that "moot" sounded like "mute," except for the "yoo" sound. Bella was unarguably mute. Or was she? She made a husky sound when she laughed. When she'd pursed her lips together to silently chastise me, I'd heard a soft whistle, and she had definitely snorted more than once.

In any event, she had blushed every time she'd caught herself. I sent the email.

I pulled the notebook she'd given me out my laptop bag and opened it to the first page. It was clean and blank and I was excited to articulate my thoughts. Emmett immediately leaned over and drew a penis in the center of it. I ripped out the page, closed the book and made a note to get my homework done at my parents' house after dinner.

She didn't respond to my email, and I got agitated. I knew she wasn't at my beck and call, but somehow, the fact that my obsession didn't necessarily translate to one of her own seemed to put me at a very unpleasant disadvantage. I was at work. She was at work. It wasn't like she was hanging around waiting for me to ask her stupid questions, share idiotic thoughts, but I also wondered why she wasn't posting.

Other than the few flirtations we'd had on the blog before last night, most of which were comprised of my commenting on her posts, there was no sign of the late night fantasy I'd sent to her, which was probably a good thing, but it gave me a bad fucking feeling. I wondered how long I'd have to wait.

When the end of the day rolled around, which was far later it should have been, but much earlier than it would have if we were at the agency, Newton told me that I should plan on being in Hartford two full days a week from then on to facilitate the launch of the campaign.

My response was two-fold. First, I didn't like Newton telling me when and where I needed to be. Second, though, was wondering how I could use the time to see Bella Swan on a much more regular basis.

-o0o-

Since the hotels were still booked, I invited Emmett to stay at my parents. I figured this was a chance for them to see that we were simply co-workers and friends, the fact of which would only be underscored when I brought Bella to dinner on Friday. They might not listen to me, but at least I could offer them visual evidence to refute their assumptions.

Emmett helped my mother in the kitchen and listened to my father rant on the havoc that the need to compete had wrought on hospitals and medical practices. After dinner he watched my brother mark out the field for this season's corn planting, and got a rare invite to go out with him in the morning and start plowing the field. I wondered out loud if Emmett understood what time Jasper actually meant when he said morning, but it didn't seem to be a problem.

Bella still hadn't responded, and still hadn't posted. I surreptitiously looked at one of her more recent pictures, which was of a guy and a girl fucking. She was curled into him, his pants half off. It seemed both comfortable and urgent at the same time. I was an asshole for noticing he was wearing khakis, but it made me happy, because I wore khakis. Me and four billion other guys, but those fucking pants may have well been mine. This was _a priori _reasoning, and probably wouldn't stand up in court, but it was definitely moot.

Or not.

_Who the fuck knew?_

The girls' hair was vaguely the color of Bella's, but it most definitely was NOT Bella. Her boobs weren't big enough. And this was a fact I was very happy to have empirical evidence for. The guy's face was obscured on the page. Regardless, I was more intrigued by what she'd written:

_I want to hear the sound he's making. I think about it all the time._

I sat on the couch and pretended to watch TV with my parents, blackberry in hand. I scrolled to a post with a black and white picture of a swan. I thought about the leftovers from last night's dinner, and wondered if was still sitting in her refrigerator, if it reminded her of me. I scrolled through the series of photos and smiled at one with girls jumping on the bed. I did a Google search for any new Wordyb and Forbiddenfruit references, but didn't pick up anything new. Perhaps the helicopters weren't circling anymore and I could relax about something.

My mother commented on my constant need to check emails. I explained it was a work hazard. She worried I'd get carpal tunnel syndrome and asked my father for validation. He pretended he didn't hear and clicked through the channels at lightning speed until he found golf, at which point he shushed us.

The Mrs. lowered her voice past the point at which I could hear her, which meant I couldn't ignore her, and continued to identify various injuries that I might be subject to owing to repetitive movement. This reminded her of something else and she launched into a series of questions all leading up to the big one, which was when the last time I'd had a physical. When I'd given her enough information to satisfy her curiosity without mortifying myself she settled down.

For half a minute.

"Just promise me you're being safe."

"What?"

"You know, with Emmett," she said and cocked her head over to where he was sitting with my brother.

"Mom, would you please give me a break?" I said through gritted teeth, I already explained to you - "

My father sighed and said, "It's the PGA. _Please_."

She patted him on the thigh, then returned to me. "How did your lesson go yesterday?" she whispered.

"Mom, this interrogation -"

"I was only wondering because -"

"Can you both _PLEASE _ be quiet?" The Doctor yelled. "Mickelson's _putting_."

This family togetherness thing was growing old, fast. I saw the tiny red light flicker on my phone and got up to check messages. I walked back to my room to have two seconds of privacy. I sat down on my mattress and read.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: Status Update

You have a remarkable ability to come across as both miserable and delighted at the same time, you know that? Do you feel as conflicted as you seem?

Today was a weird day, but now I am in a dimly lit room, doing only things that interest me, which, tonight, is thinking about you. Last night was great, though I did have to wash my hair twice this morning to get the smell of corn out. We're on for tomorrow, is it cool if I drive?

PS: For what it's worth, I wanted to invite you in. I'm a little sorry too.

Bella

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: Status Update

I have three immediate responses.

First.

It isn't possible for you to smell like corn. It's more likely you smell like mold.

Second.

Misery/Delight? I hadn't thought about it like that. The sad fact of the matter is I amuse the hell out of myself, especially when I am miserable, which is most of the time, since life seems so absurd that I can't not laugh, even though I generally don't think it's funny, although maybe this is just a defense, the laughing part. Apparently life is also full of a lot of prepositional phrases and fragments. I feel like I'm living in a movie most of the time, which is part tragedy, part comedy. Actually, I think it's all a farce.

The third is shock that you think about me at all, but that fact that you are thinking of me in a dimly lit room is tantalizing, even if you're only a little sorry. I'll take what I can get. Oh well.

Fourth is that I can't know that you are in a dimly lit room, and I can't know that you are thinking about me. How is it possible that you are so near? It's tantalizing. My mind won't accept this information - both the part that you are close, and that I can't come see you. If I promise not to talk, can I come over and hang out with you? In any event, this train of thought is counterproductive because I can't leave Emmett alone with my parents (and I can't leave my parents alone with Emmett). The thing I'm not saying, though, is how my mind wanders when I think about you and I really wonder what you could be doing that interests only you.

* * *

I erased the "Oh well," remembering how the anger that the same term had provoked in me – and sure it would give me away. Immediately after I sent the response, I checked her blog to see if she'd posted.

* * *

_**Forbiddenfruit: **_I am surprised by you, but happy to be caught (though 'm not ready for you to know that). I give myself to your lips for a moment before pulling away. My computer rests on my lap. Its silicone and plastic barrier has kept us apart, safely ensconced in our own worlds, our thoughts edited to shape perception and minimize imperfection. I set it aside, ready to be imperfect with you, desperate to eliminate these mediums and walls, willing to let you see my flaws in exchange for the feel of your hands on my skin.

I stand, but you're closer than I realize, and your legs between mine set me off balance. I have to push against you to keep from falling, but you pull me in closer, knowing that I'm about to drown in your proximity and that I need you to keep me upright. Your face is so close. I feel your nose skim along my temple, followed by your lips.

"Is this real? This can't be real," you whisper.

It doesn't feel real. It's too close, too much, too good, and I feel myself starting to unravel in your arms. I grasp onto you, trying to anchor myself before you fade in a wisp of smoke and fantasy.

You are entirely too perfect.

And absolutely everything about you screams "Stay away."

I disentangle us and turn to force you to sit on the couch. You lean back into the cushion that is no doubt still warm from my body. I like the way you look in my space. Disjointed, confused, but happy.

You try to stand, as desperate to touch me as I am to feel you, but I warn you away by holding up a finger.

_Please wait.._

I step back, and the confusion increases. Your bewilderment is precious, and I know it's real because your eyebrows are doing that thing they do when you're worrying, which is almost every moment I'm near you but not touching you.

_Let me have this..._

I explain my motivations by sliding my shirt off my shoulders, and your eyes go wide. It's familiar to you too. I plead with my eyes for you to understand how badly I need this, to see this through.

_Understand me._

Reaching behind with one hand I unclasp my bra, but hold it against my body with the other.

It's a tease, but it's as much for me as it is for you. Your eyes follow me, tracing every movement. I resist the urge to exaggerate them, instead leaving myself natural and bare. My awkward stance, loose posture, it's all true. I sway slightly, almost unconsciously, to the music in my head, to a rhythm we've established with this dance. I revel in being wanted; in knowing that you've seen my imperfections, know that I'm flawed, that there are things I can never give you, and still you sit, owning me with your eyes.

I see you grasping at the fabric of the cushions, desperate to touch. With a nod of my head toward your lap I tell you what I want, and you move without hesitation. You've been waiting for permission, always wanting to give me what I need, afraid to take. So polite, even with your cock in your hand and need in your eyes.

_I need it too._

I move my hands, and the lace falls to the ground. One more barrier gone. My patience is waning, and I wonder which of us will cave first. I have goose bumps. I could be the chill in the room, but it could be my body's ache to be closer to you.

I turn, and look at you over my shoulder. Slowly, I slide the last of my clothes down my legs to the floor and straighten to step out of them. I'm teasing you now. I want you frantic, but I also want you to see all of me. My boots feel heavy, but they anchor me here, as they always have, keeping me from floating away.

When I face you again your hand has stilled. You're waiting. I reach down to take off my boots, regretful to shed this final piece of my costume, which was always the truth, but I hear your voice.

"Leave them? Please. "

My breath escapes in a sigh and I smile because you get it. You see me, and I'm done waiting. I take the final steps to close the distance between us and while I move through cool air I imagine the glass melting away as I step through. On the other side you are warm. Your arms envelope me in quiet strength, no longer waiting for permission.

"It's real."

_It's real.

* * *

_

I cannot believe what I'm reading. It's like she is talking directly to me, and although I know I shouldn't, I write back to her, continuing the conversation.

* * *

_**Wordybastard:**__ My hands might whisper across your skin. My breath might blow across your neck. Can you hear how quiet I'm being? I'm thinking about us in the silence and low light of your room right now. I promise I will be as peaceful as humanly possible, given the fact that you roar in my head all day long._

_Don't tell me you want me._

_Show me.

* * *

_

I wished that the pretense was gone, and I suspected it probably was. I wanted to write these words in an email, but this was not easy for me to say. This was how Wordy gets to talk to her, not me. Not yet.

At some point tonight, whether it was sooner or later, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I would go to her tonight. It occurred to me that if I spent less time trying to convince myself that I wasn't going to see her, that I might not do it, that I could be there sooner and have more time with her. I told myself that I would absolutely not show up at her house unannounced and uninvited, that I would respect her boundaries and her privacy, that I would wait until tomorrow. But I won't. Though I told myself I would.

She was so close I could almost taste her.

I told myself again that I wasn't going to see her, but in my mind I clearly saw myself driving up the hill to her house. This wasn't imaginary, it wasn't wishful thinking, it was fact. I just wasn't ready to admit it to myself.

I went back to the family room, where my father, brother and Emmett were folding laundry for my mother. I pretended that I was still responding to work emails and read the newest email from Bella.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: Status Update

First, that's more than three things, but you amuse me too. I find your written ramblings very interesting. I can only imagine your unedited stream of consciousness.

Second, my pursuits and ponderings range from the cerebral to the carnal. At best they encompass both. Tonight, I feel like writing. I feel entirely possible and in bloom. I feel like writing to you. I feel like knowing you and learning all your secrets. Your words are like tiny pieces of broken glass, vibrant with color, like a mosaic. I want to see them coming together. I'm enjoying the coming together. But I don't have enough pieces. I want to be able to step back and see the whole you, and I want there to be so much more to you than simply the fact that you think of me. I want to know what the picture of you looks like behind what I can see with my own two eyes. What is it that drives you? Why do you seem alternately lost and found?

I've wanted to find you for a while.

Third.

Come and get me.

.

.

.

On second thought, pick me up tomorrow in the chariot of your choice, chaperoned by produce if necessary.

Tonight I want your mind, and can't afford to be distracted by your body. Give me your words.

Take care of Emmett.

~B

P.S. "I'm sick of not having the courage to be an absolute nobody."

-o0o-

I stared at her third point.

"Come and get me."

She was provoking me, but I didn't know whether she meant it as a command or was using my own rhetoric against me. I remembered her using the same phrase when's she'd posted Forbidden's fantasy, and I felt the two worlds grew inexorably closer. I couldn't tell if she was doing it on purpose, or if she was having as difficult a time keeping the two conversations separate as I was.

And those three fucking spots – like vertical ellipses – maybe taking the place of words left unsaid, or a dare to connect the dots. In any case, she clearly owned the space, not me.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

Dear Holden,

The quote is Salinger, but I feel compelled to acknowledge that the "misery/delight" in your previous email is too.

Why do I get the feeling that you are testing me?

Are you testing me, Miss Swan?

I don't like to be tested, but if that's how you want to play it,

I'll take "Quotable Quotes" for $1000.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

"The idea that the author isn't the real author of his works, but is only the instrument of his works, is a commonplace. It's usually a muse or the collective unconscious. I latched onto that concept and started to write a song about it. The notion being that we only know anything about what we do in retrospect - we never know about it at the time. In fact, one isn't the actual author. It's the flow of time through oneself that makes up everything that one does. No one knows who they are. Only time knows who you are. But I do believe that there is a husk that time whistles through. And that husk is whatever is left outside your works. And by works I mean all your outward manifestations. Those things are made by time."[1]

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

Richard Hell, _Hot & Cold_, page …. something.

* * *

To: Edward Cullen

From: Isabella Swan

Re: re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

Oh, too bad. You didn't phrase your answer in the form of a question.

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

Can I come over?

* * *

To: Isabella Swan

From: Edward Cullen

Re: re: re: re: re: re: Status Update

I thought you'd never ask.

* * *

A/N:

Triple thank you to Wonderwallthefirst, who told us when enough was enough. Love always to ElleCC and Sweetdulci, who support us even when we are frantic to post.

Round 1 voting closes on the Avant Garde Awards on 12/4 – make sure you check out the nominees – there are some wonderful stories and authors represented. Go here to vote: h t t p : /twilightfb-awards . blogspot . com/p/vote . h t m l


	10. 10

I was out of my seat before I'd read the last words of the message, unconsciously patting my pockets for keys, which, of course I still didn't have.

"I've got to go to the store for some saline. Do you need anything?" I asked to the room at large, moving fast to get out.

The minute the words were out of my mouth Emmett dropped the sock he'd been holding for the last five minutes while searching the pile for the matching one and Jasper balled up the sheet he'd been folding. Both of them said, "I'll go with you."

I couldn't come up with a valid reason to strand them without telling the truth. Emmett could cause far more damage if left to his own devices, and knowing Esme, she'd have him picking out china patterns before I was out of the driveway.

"Fine," I said and grabbed for the keys Jasper dangled in front of me.

"Ah, ah, ah," he said and pulled back. "Don't be grabby."

"Can we just go?" I figured I'd come up with some explanation on the way, but before we were out of the room, Esme pulled a legal-sized sheet of paper out of thin air and started ticking off items with the pen she always had conveniently stowed in her hair. "There are a few things I need - "

"It's almost eleven o'clock," I barked out.

"It's only a few things, for goodness sake."

I swallowed the angry comment that was on the tip of my tongue when I realized she had conveniently given me a task I could delegate to my brother and Emmett. Jasper hung his head over my mother's shoulder, while I read upside down and we negotiated the terms of what could realistically be obtained at this time of night without having to drive all over hell and gone. We managed to cut the list in half with a promise to run out again tomorrow.

"Many hands make light work," my mother sang.

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained," chimed my father without looking up. He was still seated at the table, folding napkins. I counted the seconds waiting for my mother's response.

_Cue The Mrs._

"I don't know why you insist on saying that every single time. It never has any bearing on what I say."

"I say it because you love me," he said and gave her a shrug. She responded by wrapping her arms around his shoulders and kissing the top of his head, then reached for her purse. She took out her checkbook, signed her name on a check, ripped it out and handed it to me. When I reached for it she instantly pulled it out of my grasp.

"Don't lose this, Edward. It's a blank check."

"Mom, I'm not going to lose it," I said and reached for it again.

She plucked it just out of my fingers. "Remember that time?"

"I'll pay with my bank card and you can pay me back," I said and turned to my brother. "Can we just go?"

"So sensitive," she scoffed and handed me the check.

"You people are insane," Emmett laughed.

Jasper held his keys out. I reached and he fucking pulled them away again and smirked. "Oooh, almost."

I feinted with my right, but got them with my left, then pushed both he and Emmett down the hall and out the door, because every minute I spent negotiating with these terrorists meant that Bella was growing cold waiting for me on the other side of town.

Emmett was remarkably excited about our mode of transport. Jasper tried to pull rank, but I was unwilling to give up my last shred of dignity and climbed in on the driver side. When he realized he'd been defeated, my brother called "Shotgun!" and Emmett climbed into the back in defeat.

I stuck the key in the ignition and the engine choked. I had just begun the ritual of petting and sweet talk to coax the Corn Rocket to life when Jasper slid into the passenger seat and immediately began critiquing my skills.

"You're not doin' it right. Don't just jam it in there. You've got to put it in softer than that." He was being a dick, but clearly I wasn't doing it right in my rush to get to Bella because the fucking thing wasn't turning over. I sat back and gave him a look.

"Watch," Jasper said, gently tugging the key from the ignition, then slipping it back in so slowly I felt like a voyeur.

"It smells good in here," Emmett said from the back. "What is it?"

Jasper pulled the rear view mirror toward him and gave Emmett both the sweetheart eyes AND the dimple. "It's corn smut." I pulled the mirror back and gave my brother a look. When Emmett laughed, we both turned toward him. It wasn't the kind of laugh he usually had with me - the kind that sounded mostly like chagrin. This laugh was one of surprise.

"_Cuitlacoche, _bitches!" he yelled and clapped his hands in approval. "That shit makes me hungry."

I looked back at where he was settled on the floorboards of the van and gave him my best "How the fuck do you know that?" look, but Jasper had already engaged him with foodie talk. I zoned them out as I pulled out onto the road.

Although Emmett had no idea where we were headed, it didn't take Jasper long to notice that we'd veered off course from our supposed destination.

"You lost?"

"I've got to make a stop."

"Bella know you're coming?" Emmett asked, pushing himself up over the back of the seat.

"Who?" Jasper asked.

"Yes," I said to Emmett.

"Wait, who knows you're coming?" Jasper repeated.

"Sorta Girl," I said and gave him a look.

"Ahhh," he said and raised his eyebrows at me. "We droppin' you off?"

"If you don't mind."

He gave me a long look. "Not in the slightest."

"I figured - "

"I know what you figured," he snarked, "But hey, I live to run errands for you and The Mrs. in the middle of the night, so it's no problem. Is there anything else I can do for you while I'm out? Anything at the dry cleaners you need picked up? Library books returned?"

"Actually, if you could pick me up some saline solution, that would be great."

Emmett said, "Oh shit, I forgot to call Rose," and pulled out his cell.

"Who's Rose?" Jasper asked, and pulled the rear view mirror toward him again so he could look in the back. His eyebrows furrowed just slightly.

"Fuck, Jasper. Would you stop doing that?" I said and twisted the mirror back toward me.

Emmett said, "She's my baby girl," then turned away and plugged his ear waiting for someone, hopefully Lauren, to pick-up.

Jasper leaned toward me and whispered under his breath, "I didn't think pussy was his thing."

I grinned at him. "You have no idea."

**-o0o-**

I pulled up in front of Bella's cottage. The windows glowed with warm yellow light, different from the cold neon that used to remind me of her, and in fact, still did. I sat staring at the house, nervous about what I'd do now that I was here. I reminded myself that I was an adult male. I had had my fair share of sex. I was in good shape. I could hold my own.

_And she wanted me, too._

Having spent the better part of the last year thinking about what our bodies would do together, the reality of it was completely messing with my head, even though my dick was more than prepared to hold up its end of the bargain.

I stared at her house and wondered why I felt like a seventeen year old?

_No couth, no skills, no game._

Jasper said, "Ahem."

"I... uh..."

"I have errands to run, lover boy, so unless you've had a sudden change of plans... "

"Yeah... I mean, no... no change in plans," I said, and opened the door. The night air smacked me in the face and woke me up. I strapped on some balls. "Pick me up on your way back."

Jasper said, "See you in about an hour."

Emmett made a fucked up joke about my only needing ten minutes, so I said, "Fuck you, too" sounding utterly sophomoric.

They were both still snickering at me when they pulled away.

I stood in the dark on her front walk. Except for the light in her house, and a few in the neighbors', the night was black. If Boo Radley had suddenly appeared next to a tree in the side yard, it wouldn't have surprised me in the slightest. I stood on her porch, scared absolutely shitless, and knocked.

She was holding a book when she opened the door, her index finger crooked in between the pages to save her place. She wore a slow, lazy smile and a long flannel nightgown, which was on backwards, the three buttons that should have ridden up the back open at her throat. I knew girls wore pajamas this way because it choked them to wear it the right side round, just one of the many useful facts I'd picked up in college while studying to become the next Hemingway.

How could it be that that bit of knowledge would turn out more useful than studying the egoism and artificial heroism of _A Moveable Feast_? Every asshole freshman on my floor was in love with that stupid book, but the reality of those three undone buttons was more understated, more subtle, more flesh and blood, than any words I had ever read in school.

_Ah fuck it, I didn't even like Hemingway then either._

My hand moved automatically and my fingers wrapped gently around her neck, my thumb resting against the white scar that was showcased in blue and white flowers and ruffles. I wrapped my other arm around her waist to pull her against me and kissed her mouth. Her lips were full and challenging. She dragged her mouth down my jaw and I felt her teeth, which distracted me just enough to realize we were standing in front of an open door.

I kicked it shut without letting her go.

I leaned my forehead against hers to get a grip on the situation. She wound her arms around my neck and looked up. Her eyes were dark, her cheeks round and pink, burning against my skin. She stood on her toes and leaned into me. Her breasts shifted separately from the fabric and I felt her nakedness under the flannel. I moved my hands to her ass and she made a whispery groan, before she put her head on my chest. Her hair smelled clean. The separate pieces of her danced in my brain. She pulled back up and held her mouth a fraction away, waiting, holding me hostage, just as I'd predicted she might. In my arms she was just a girl, ready to read herself asleep, but her sly grin showed me she was still "The Girl," smirking and untouchable behind the glass. Right now though, she was mine.

_For a little while._

"I can't stay long."

She looked slightly disappointed, which made me happy and miserable at the same time. This, as she'd correctly pointed out earlier this evening, was my reaction to everything.

"What were you doing before I got here?"

She pulled her book out and waggled it in front of me.

"Can I read with you?"

She cocked her head just slightly and regarded me, then took my hand. My blood turned to ice and my knees were jelly, when she led me to the stairs, but I followed her up to her room. Her bed was rumpled, books piled everywhere. The entire room was organized chaos, and I imagined it would take me a long time to go through her things trying to discover who she was.

She sat on her bed, and leaned up against the headboard. Her hair pushed up in the back, which reminded me of how she'd looked in the van a night ago. It felt like weeks since I'd last seen her, not just a day, but then it seemed to be only minutes. Time changed its game and simply wound around me, sometimes close and sometimes far. Her eyes were sparkling and provocative. Her nightgown had ridden up. There was no polish on her toes, and her thighs were lean and strong. In fact her legs were almost obscenely beautiful.

Everything in me said_, "Go."_

I leaned down to kiss her, traveling one hand along her calf. I moved my fingers up higher, searching for fabric to tug. I chased the progression of the hem as it rose across her knee, skimming along the outside of her thigh, continuing up until I realized she wasn't wearing any panties, and groaned into her mouth. She tried to pull me on top of her, so I rolled to avoid crushing her, but the bed was old, creaking under my weight, and she bounced from the center of the mattress practically on top of me. I captured her in my arms and she smiled. I kicked my shoes off, not wanting to dirty her bed, but it also had the effect of making me feel a little more permanent. We slunk down until we were lying next to each other. The movement caused her nightgown to ride up even higher and I realized the sheets were flannel too.

"Bella," I whispered low into her ear, one hand at her waist, as she rested her head on my forearm. She humming softly in response. "Flannel pajamas and flannel sheets? This is like Velcro. How do you get out of bed in the morning?"

She shook her head then pulled my mouth closer to hers so that she could kiss me. Book forgotten, my hand drifted through the opening of the fabric at her neck and I felt her collarbone, her skin. Her shoulder was smooth and when she moved her arm to pull me in tighter I relished the tenseness of her muscle in my palm and the pull of the sleeve as the fabric wrenched slightly away from its seam.

It only took a moment for her nightgown to disappear. I wasn't sure which one of us had taken it off, but she was suddenly completely naked and her skin was like silk everywhere under my hands. I was stunned, and even more so when she unbuttoned my shirt and slid it off my shoulders. Without breaking our kiss, I opened my eyes to see if her body looked as glorious as it felt and was surprised to see she was already looking at me, apparently as shocked as I was at her sudden lack of clothing. She closed her eyes shyly, and her mouth quirked into a small smile against my lips, like she was embarrassed to be caught peeking.

I pulled away from her because I couldn't believe she might be self-conscious about showing herself to me. The glow from the bedside table lit her up. She looked as if she was made of light and I pushed myself up on my elbows to take her in. Considering how many times I'd seen her undressed, this was the first time I had ever truly seen her naked.

Odder still was how exposed _I _felt. It was almost unbearable, more than I knew what to do with. Sexually, what had always driven me was my own sense of urgency, like it was my job to lose control and move things along to their inevitable conclusion. With Bella there was an entire world of waiting that might take place before stop and go. I trailed my hand across her lips. She took in a breath and tilted her head back just slightly, which almost, but not quite, distracted me from her hips, which did the same. I lightly traced my fingers along the side of her neck to the back of her ear and kissed her just beneath. She nuzzled me and I moved to her shoulder, kissing down her arm, keeping my eyes open as I watched the goosebumps rise on her skin.

I pulled her hand to my mouth and said her name, then dragged my nose across her belly to kiss her other hand, keeping hold of both her wrists. I moved back up her other arm and noticed the tiny white scars up close. I kissed them. She instantly pulled her hands away from mine and tried to cover herself. I looked up at her questioningly.

I felt rather than heard her shush me, but when I opened my mouth to ask her how, she shook her head "no."

And I knew she meant, "Not now."

I switched us so that she was lying beneath me again and kissed her as gently as I could, despite the fact that my heart was pounding and her breath was quick. She lay back on the soft pillows and watched me, still a little protective, but with each soft kiss, each lap of my tongue she started to let go. Her hands ran over my chest and across my abdomen, fingers trailing along the waist of my jeans. I willed them lower, but she didn't go there. I was almost in physical pain when her fingers wound into my hair, pulling me closer to her skin. I licked down her neck, her shoulders, tasting her, wanting to consume her.

My hands drifted around the curve of her breasts. I sucked at her belly button and blew on the trail of wetness so I could watch her chill. When she did I kissed across to her hipbone and followed it down. My hand slipped over her stomach and she arched up towards me. I put my hands between her thighs, but she barely opened her legs, so I lifted my head to her. "Let me."

Her hair was dark against the pillow, spread out in waves. My eyes felt heavy under the weight of her gaze. She opened herself up just slightly to my touch, still looking at me, almost as if she was nervous. When I caressed the inside of her thighs she closed her eyes and let out a husky breath. "Bella," I whispered up at her. She opened her eyes again and smiled shyly, then curled her fingers tighter in my hair.

Her nerves made me bold and I nuzzled the soft hair between her legs. I sucked on the inside of her thigh and slipped my hand between her legs, then moved up and licked her tentatively, making her wet. My tongue curved and flattened against her, she moved back and forth against me and set my rhythm.

I reached up to hold her breast with one hand, and reached down with the other to gently tease her with my fingertips. I stopped, because for the first time in my life, it was an option. I was part of the moment and while there was urgency to it, it was just as important to experience the swirling sensations going on in my body – not the least of which was the ability to just look at her. Not just her eyes, and hair, but the parts that nobody saw, the parts of her that were secret.

I looked at her face. Her eyes were still closed, but her lips were parted as if in surprise. I slid two fingers deep into her, because I could, because I wanted to see what would happen. She gasped at the sudden penetration and pushed herself onto my hand. I circled her a little faster with my thumb, and added more pressure when she started shuddering underneath me. I remembered wanting to see her come so badly when we'd first met. It had originally been selfish, part of the kink of the situation, but I realized even then that what I had really wanted out of this moment was to make her feel this way.

She was so close, her thighs wide open now - my tongue licked, my mouth sucked, more urgently, my fingers thrusting deeper, but I kept my eyes trained on her. She had one arm over her eyes and the other twisted around a handful of sheets, soft noises drifted down onto me. She rocked her hips up and down, trembling harder and I held her thighs to keep her still, which she used as leverage to push up to my mouth.

_I wanted her to come, I needed her to come._

When she finally did, her body arched up off the bed. I sucked harder, fucking her with my fingers, until she couldn't take any more; she groaned huskily and came hard.

Her body convulsed and she sat up and curled around me, her arms holding tight across my shoulders. My fingers were still in her, and I teased her a bit, pulsing a little with the aftershocks. She breathed hard, her mouth just below my ear. It was the most beautiful sound, which it made me painfully aware of my own situation. For a long moment it felt like we were in a knot of desire and exhilaration.

When her arms loosened, I moved us back to the pillows and cradled her into my chest. I kissed her chin, her cheeks, her eyes, her forehead. She looked completely knocked out, which made me happy, but I wasn't surprised when she drifted her hand across my erection. I wanted to go there so fucking badly, but I gently took her hand and brought it to my mouth.

"I want to, Bella. So much. You have no idea, but I can't, not tonight," I said and kissed her fingers. "Do you understand? Not if I have to leave."

She wrapped her hand around mine and I rubbed my thumb across her lips. Her tongue poked out to play, and we wrestled like that for a moment. Her mouth, my fingers, until she grabbed my thumb and sucked it straight into her mouth, swirling it with her tongue, sucking, pulling it in and out. The pressure went straight to my dick, but I let her do it, until I had to stop and rolled on to my back. She climbed on top of me, and looked down. Her eyes were deep and dark. Entire worlds of meaning. Without make-up she looked even younger than she was, and I saw there was probably more to her than I could possibly imagine. We lie like that for a while, looking at each other, and being brave enough not to look away when the other seemed to see something that had been previously hidden.

I whispered my hand across her skin, and squeezed her ass, teasing myself that I could stay and that time wasn't running out. She ran her hands along my jaw and kissed my neck, sucking and purring just underneath my ear. Her sounds become less frequent and eventually she quieted completely. I watched the movement of her chest slow until she fell asleep then tucked her under the covers, feeling an ache of regret at having to leave her, which didn't dim the elation of having held her in her bed. I dragged my shirt back on, and turned off her lamp, just as a pair of headlights swept through the windows.

**-o0o-**

There wasn't much conversation on the way back. Jasper and Emmett were almost suspiciously quiet, and I had nothing to say as I replayed the night in my mind. Back at home we each drank a beer, but wandered down the hall soon after mumbling a few "G'nights."

I heard someone in the bathroom, then the creak of a door closing. I heard another door close. Then another door open, and then the sound of water running. Another door opened and closed. It was like fucking Grand Central Terminal outside my door. I ignored my own discomfort because even if I did make myself feel better, I didn't feel like getting caught, especially when it wasn't really going to be relief anyway.

I put my Blackberry next to the bed and plugged it in. I looked at the thing in my hand and thought of checking on emails and blogs, and wondered what fresh hell the outside world might provide, but the idea of it just made me tired. No matter the stimulation I might find, it couldn't compare to tonight, so I decided just to play with the memory of the things I'd done to her until I fell asleep.

**-o0o**

**

* * *

**

**AN: **A special thank you to Domysticated for understanding more about this story than we do, a medal of valor to Happymelt for enthusiasm above and beyond the call of duty, and, love as per always, to Wonderwallthefirst for saying when, to SweetDulci for encouraging bad behavior, and to ElleCC for everything everything everything.


	11. 11

I spent the day running errands, dealing remotely with Yorkie, and putting Newton off until the next week. A brief Google search revealed that even the digital threat seemed to have dissipated as the content of Forbidden and Wordy's correspondence became old news, the virtual voyeurs already bored as they panted over the next set of shiny keys.

A quick email back and forth with Bella at noon confirmed that I would pick her up at six-thirty, and let her know that my mother had decided, for some unfathomable reason, that the dress code should be "cocktail attire."

I spent the day in a constant state of "to do." I watched my mother spin through the hours like a dervish, driven by some internal combustion engine that never faltered, never stalled.

Folding napkins with her after every other chore she could think of was done, and before it was time for me to start thinking about getting Bella up, I noticed that the skin on the back of my mother's hands had become thin. I glanced at her as she worked, humming to herself, seeming very calm. I wondered if I would ever feel that way while trapped in the hurried but meaningless pace I kept up.

This search for meaning, this idea of "choice," the constant search for perfection - the perfect career, the perfect person, the perfect city, the perfect everything - had never seemed an issue for my parents. Their lives seemed solid, without question, immutable. As if to underline - _undermine, _I thought parenthetically, before switching to _underscore - _my compulsion, a switch flipped in my brain and I wondered what the root of "immutable" was.

_Mute?_

_Moot?_

_What was the root?_

What the hell was wrong with me?

I put down the napkin I was mashing. My mother immediately refolded it then flattened it with the iron. While she pressed, I took a surreptitious spin on my phone to see what was what.

_Mute_ was from the Latin, but it was interesting that it was also an obscure term for a hired mourner. Bella had written something about mourning me after we'd first been introduced - but I wondered if, in fact, she'd been mourning herself and I wondered again about those fucking scars. I moved on to _moot_, which was from the Old English "to meet," or the Old French "to converse," depending on whether you were going with Webster or Wiki, but at the bottom of the page I read that it was also a slang term for vagina in Australia and decided some things were better left unknown. _Immutable _was a different thing all together.

My fucking brain wanted to crush these words, to squeeze out their essence or lock them in place, the same way my mother was ironing the fuck out of the napkins so that their creases would be precise, as if the fucking world would come to an end if Maggie Randall noticed that the corners didn't match.

None of these words had any true meaning; they were all just sounds. Whether slang, obscure or obsolete, it wasn't the word itself that mattered. And when it was all said and done, whether I nailed the precise word and placed it in the most cosmically correct place, pronoun and subject in agreement, nobody listened anyway. Context is what counted, and the sounds that supposedly delivered meaning, shifted and turned like pieces of glass to capture the light, were mostly shit if the underlying intent was untrue.

"Are you happy, Mom?"

She cocked an eyebrow at me and smiled. "What a funny thing to ask," she said, then went back to the task at hand. After a moment she looked at me and asked, "Are _you_ happy, Edward?"

I picked up a napkin and started folding.

Regardless of the fact that my job was less than meaningless, that I was for all intents and purposes homeless, that I had failed miserably at being a husband, was living in a state of limbo, had an unparalleled ability to be aggravated by the tiniest lack of authenticity in any word or deed, while simultaneously second-guessing my every move, and that my consequent ineptitude was a source of great amusement to my friends and family, I was, for the first time in my life, somewhere in the realm of, at least on the outskirts of, something that might resemble, if I closed one eye and squinted with the other, happy.

I felt my lips turning up into a smile which probably mirrored her own, but before I could respond, my brother and Emmett pulled into the front drive.

"Your favorite son is home," I said, glancing out the window. My mother frowned at me while she grinned, and I wondered, not for the first time, how she managed to pull these incongruous faces. Disappointment and love. Anger and amusement.

They came in through the front door, laughing and rowdy. As they made their way down the hall, I heard them laughing and knocking each other into walls, but when they arrived in the great room, they looked sheepish.

_And fucking covered in muck and hay._

Esme put her hands on her hips and in her trying-to-be-scary voice yelled, "Jasper WHITLOCK Cullen if you get one SPECK of dirt on my carpet or the walls of THIS HOUSE I will have YOUR HIDE." She squinted her eyes at Emmett and said, "The same goes for you, mister."

Her threat sounded benign to me, and my brother grinned at her from ear to ear, but Emmett instantly kicked off his boots, stripped off his shirt and used it to wipe his hands.

Jasper looked like he'd swallowed his tongue. My mother gasped and bit her lip.

-o0o-

Bella was sitting on the steps when I pulled up, hunched in the chill of the night, her pocketbook perched on her lap. Her cheeks were round and pink, but I was mostly fascinated by her knees. When I got out of the car, she seemed to size me up, then stood and unfolded like a tiny Transformer, changing from a girl waiting for a ride into a woman who was ready to go.

I stared at the gray silk as it swung back and forth across her legs, which were barely covered not only by the material, but by the crisscross of her stockings. I held the car door for her. When she curled into the front seat, the dress shifted up and I saw a peek of her thigh. I stood speechless as she reached out and pulled the door closed, but when she leaned over to my side to push my door open, my jaw followed suit at the way the strings of the fishnet bit into her ass.

-o0o-

She already knew my parents, but hadn't met Jasper, who shot her the double-barreled sweetheart. "Nice to meet you, Sorta."

She gave him a quizzical smile, while I grimaced. My father offered to take her sweater. She handed me her bag, then peeled the bit of wool off her shoulders and handed it to him. He looked very serious and nodded to himself. I involuntarily took a deep breath then tried to let it out as slowly as possible.

_For fuck sake, it's only a collar bone._

My mother excused herself to go check on things in the kitchen, but under her breath I heard her say, "Must be nice."

"How do you two know each other again?" he asked, ignoring the guests who were starting to stream through the door. If my mother's preferred form of subterfuge was feigned sleep, my father's was purposefully forgetting simple facts. He'd once explained to me that this was a way to get his patients to explain their symptoms and circumstances to him again, a way for him to discern the truth based on the inconsistencies in their stories, so I was on his game and repeated verbatim, exactly what I'd told him earlier.

"Bella is teaching me sign language, Dad."

"Oh, right," he said. "I remember you mentioning that this morning. And that will come in handy for when..." He left off the question mark.

"For when Bella and I need to talk."

He crossed his arms and nodded again.

Smiling, Bella touched her right hand to her mouth, then made an arc to the outstretched palm of her other hand. The bareness of her skin, the muscles in her arms, her fucking clavicle - to use the term I was certain was in my father's head - her entire body seemed to come together to make this one word.

"Good," I said, and she smiled. My eyes filled with the sight of her, but I turned to my father and said, "See? Good."

"Good. Yes. Very good," my father said and raised his eyebrows to show he was impressed.

But Bella wasn't finished yet and placed her left hand, palm up, perpendicular to her body. With her right she squeezed four fingers together and made a downward motion, followed by both hands running parallel along the side of her body. These more complicated movements were lost on me. I guessed "box" with trepidation.

Bella smirked and shook her head then made the sign again, this time accompanied by a silent word from her lips. I watched her mouth, determined not to be distracted by it. "Student?"

She grinned and nodded.

"See, Dad? Bella says I'm a good student."

My father opened his mouth to say something else just as Jasper sidled up to him, arms full of coats.

"The lady of the house would like me to inform you that you are doing a crap job on door patrol."

"In those exact words?" The Doctor asked.

"No." He smirked. "The Mrs. actually said you were doing a _shitty_ job at door patrol, but I was putting up a good front for our guest."

The Doctor nodded, heaped Bella's sweater on to my brother's pile and they both disappeared.

The house was big, just the right size for a good party. There were maybe fifty or sixty people strewn about the various rooms, although they all tended to collect near the kitchen. It was surprisingly easy to introduce Bella around. She was already familiar with a lot of people, and the small talk was repetitive, vague and required very little in the way of precision in response. Everyone seemed to fall into one of two groups; one was either a person who controlled the conversation, infatuated with the sound of his or her own voice, or one pretended to hear.

The crazy shit wasn't that Bella kept up her end of the dialogue; it was that she actually listened.

Her quiet spoke volumes, and I started to separate people by the way they dealt with her. Some nervously chattered, some became awkwardly silent, and it seemed to be the obverse of what one expected. The talkers became tight-lipped. The reticent became chatty. In both cases, Bella absorbed the conversation with her eyes, and when she responded, which was more often than I would have expected, she delivered her thoughts via elegant and articulate pantomime. I wasn't even sure it was sign language.

She didn't need me as a chaperon and after a while we got separated. I got rooked into a conversation with one of the nurses in my father's office, while Bella was talking to one of the younger doctors in the practice.

I couldn't remember the name of the woman I was talking to, but noticed that she was playing with the top button of her blouse. I looked at her chest once, trying to jog my memory for the contents of the name tag she usually wore there. When I glanced back up at her face, she was looking at me with a certain self-satisfaction. I glanced over her shoulder at Bella who met my eyes quickly then looked away.

I kept up my end of the conversation with the nameless nurse, but I couldn't help but look back at Bella, the way her mouth moved as she talked with her hands, the way she pushed her hair behind her ear, the swell of her breasts under the silk of her dress. His eyes flicked down to her chest every time he paused, and I was fairly certain he wasn't looking for her name tag.

I excused myself and crossed the room, then put my hand possessively on her shoulder.

"Can I get you anything, ba ... " I asked. For some reason I wanted to call her "baby," which wasn't an endearment I had ever uttered. I wanted to say it to her, not in a cheesy way, but because I wanted to let him know she was mine. And because I wanted to say a lot of things in her ear to see how she'd respond.

I swallowed and nodded toward her glass. "From the bar, I mean. Can I get you a refill?"

She looked up at me, cheeks flushed. She grinned, nodded and held up her glass. I turned to make the same offer to the guy, but he excused himself. Bella followed me to the side bar, which was piled with bottles of various denominations. I gave us both a pour, then led her down the hall and through the door into my father's office. I flipped on the soft light of the desk lamp and she made her way around the room looking at his degrees, a few drawings that Jasper and I had made him as children, and a picture of my mother he'd had on his desk for as long as I could remember.

Bella picked it up and circled her hand around her face.

"Beautiful," I said, trapped by her... _countenance? _I didn't know what word to use. It was the whole of her. She made me ineloquent in every way. I wondered about that word, and it occurred to me that it wasn't very eloquent of me to define a word by using it's opposite, and in fact, it wasn't even a word.

Her eyes were made up in a way I hadn't seen since before. She didn't look grown up exactly, but she looked worldly, experienced, practiced, knowing, informed, shrewd. Her expression was wry, arch and mischievous. It was naughty, erotic, redolent. _She _was eloquent.

She was everything that I wasn't.

I stepped forward and took her wine glass and put it on my father's desk. I pulled her hips to mine and her hands were instantly around my neck. The fabric of her dress was like a swish of nothing, acting purely as a method of amplifying what was underneath. My hand tangled in her hair, the other slid along her back. I pressed against her warm, firm body, but stopped myself from grasping the silk and pulling it up. I didn't stop myself from leaning over to taste her lips. I kissed her softly, inhaling her breath as her mouth glided softly against mine, hot and cold at the same time.

Fucking hot and cold.

I thought of the book. I thought of visiting her in the store, seeing her outside of the box for the first time, and then finding her again in another type of box. Every time she'd "met" me, I was a different person. I wanted to reintroduce myself to her and get us on a single page. She needed to know that they were all me, too.

_Tell her._

I swallowed then kissed her again for courage. She flicked her tongue against mine, but I pulled away just slightly. "Um. Bella. I... I... I have to tell you something... " I stuttered, almost sure she already knew what I was going to say, but I needed to do it anyway.

She dropped her hands to my waist and pulled tighter against me. My hands instantly cupped the outside of her breasts; my thumbs ran up across their roundness until I got to her nipples. I looked into her eyes and as the words flooded my mouth, the door flew open and the overhead light glared on.

"Oh, excuse me. I didn't realize any one was in here."

Peter held a tumbler of scotch in one hand and a cell phone in the other as if that explained everything.

I, on the other hand, had Bella in a death grip, but no words to excuse what he'd walked in on.

"Your father said I could, uh - use this room to make an, um - a phone call." He waggled the phone at me. "Mrs. Stanley... her sister... she had... "

I stopped him. "No. It's alright." I cleared my throat. "I was just showing Bella something. It's all yours."

Bella followed me into the hall where we instantly ran into my mother who grabbed Bella's hand. "There you are! I need some help." I followed behind as she dragged her to the kitchen to help pass _hors d'oeuvres_. She made some big fucking point about how helpful Emmett was, just as he walked back into the kitchen, empty platter in hand.

She instantly handed him a new dish arranged with stuffed mushrooms, and slapped my hand when I tried to take one. "I want to make sure we have enough." She handed Bella a tray of shrimp and cocktail sauce, then pulled two plates off the counter and handed them to me. One was a gray, pasty looking lump, the other was full of stale-looking bread.

It was the most disgusting thing I'd ever seen. "What is _this_?" I asked.

My mother _tsked_. "Sardine and lemon pate. I had it at bridge club a few weeks ago." She scooped a wad of it onto a cracker and held it just under my nose. "Try it."

When I pulled back she handed the cracker to Bella, who popped it into her mouth and nodded approvingly. Esme lovingly spread some more on another cracker for Emmett and he took it like a man.

"See? It's delicious."

I didn't want to look like a jerk, so I opened my mouth slightly and she shoved another in.

"Aughhh, mom! It tastes like salt with hair," I gagged. I wanted to wipe my tongue with my tie.

"He's always been very difficult," she said by way of explanation to no one in particular. Bella cocked an eyebrow at me. I shrugged my shoulders. Emmett laughed.

"Shoo," my mother said and waved us out of the room. "Busy, busy, busy."

We made a few passes around the room. When I saw Bella's plate was almost empty, I flanked her and steered us back into the kitchen. Bella gave my plates a disapproving as I set them on the counter. They were as full as they'd been when I started.

"It's not my fault," I said. "It's repulsive."

She let out a whispery breath of amusement, but stuck her pinky into the sad wad then sucked it from her finger.

"I won't kiss you if you taste like cat food."

Bella stuck her finger in the goo and smeared it on my bottom lip. I immediately brought my hand to my mouth to wipe it off, but had a better idea and pulled her face to mine. "Get it off," I slurred, unwilling to let my tongue near the paste until hers was first.

She exaggerated both the movement and the sound it took to remove the offending food, but when she slurped at my bottom lip, my tongue arched up in response and attached itself to the top of hers. When she gasped, I grabbed her hand and towed her through the back hall to the guest room and backed her over to the bed. When the frame hit her legs She sat with a bounce and spread her thighs and the silk rode up and collected in a puddle between her legs. I turned and pushed the button that locked the door. The metallic clink made a spark in my brain.

I leaned down to kiss her at the same time she leaned back on her elbows. I followed her movement, knowing that momentum was in my favor and met her lip for tongue when she stopped. I slipped a hand up from her knee, and brushed slowly and teasingly along the inside of her thigh. The strings of the stockings hesitated slightly against the direction I was heading and created friction in my palm. I was concentrating as much on her heartbeat as on the placement of my fingers, when I heard movement outside the door and stopped cold. The sound of our breathing filled the air.

I heard footsteps, which seemed to be passing from the kitchen to where we were. "Shhh," I said, but thumbed across the fabric at her center, biding my time, waiting to hear what was happening. Her eyes were dark, her lids heavy, but sparkling. She bit her lip and I kissed it free. Her heat sang to me and I ached for my fingers to be my dick, which was growing uncomfortably tight.

Her upturned face was impish and innocent and I imagined what it would feel like to be skin on skin with her, remembered what it felt like to be in between her legs with my mouth, and how badly I wanted to be inside of her. She ran her hand across my chest, down my stomach and hesitated at my belt. Her mouth pulled at mine and I wondered if I could slide into her just a little, just the tip, the head. Just for a minute.

The sounds in the hall were probably for the bathroom.

She wriggled and tried to push herself up against my hand, but I held her back until I was certain we wouldn't be interrupted and drifted my hand up to the waist of her stockings, teasingly sliding my hand down through the top of her panties, past the softness of her hair, into the wetness at the narrow opening and slid my middle finger up through it, testing her, testing myself. Bella groaned softly and opened her legs a little wider.

I teased her with the insistent pressure of my finger and she threw her head back and offered me her neck. I sucked, touching her as gently as I could, steadily listening, ready to react if necessary. The blue light of the moon snuck in between the shutters and the pattern of horizontal light fell in sheathes across her body. I looked at my hand under the black nylon crisscross. Though I still hadn't told her what I needed to say, I swore to myself it would be tonight. I promised every god I could think of that I would make this right, that I would get on my hands and knees to beg her to forgive me if it came to that, but right now, if she wanted me, I didn't know if I had the power to refuse her.

Even if I had, when Bella's hand moved to my balls and pressed her palm up along my zipper, all bets were off.

Until I heard the lock click, and turned to see my brother back into the room followed by Emmett.

"What the fuck?" I hissed. My brother whipped his head around.

"Oh shit," he said looking at us.

Fortunately Bella and I hadn't gotten down to any clothing removal, but nonetheless Jasper and Emmett were standing in the doorway, looking guilty as fuck.

"You popped the fucking lock?"

They looked at each other, then my brother looked at me. "Oh. Um. We're supposed... to... to to to... get coats for some - um - people who are leaving."

"No coats here. Would you please close the fucking door," I rasped menacingly.

They backed out, but the moment was lost. The idea that anyone would know we were down here making out on a twin bed just on the other side of the kitchen was too much to contemplate. I helped Bella up and held her in my arms.

"I'm so sorry. I'm... I'm... I shouldn't have, but I can't think straight when you're around and I... " I thought maybe I should just tell her now, but the words didn't come. "Fuck, Bella. I'm sorry this is so ridiculous."

She looked slightly amused, but mostly frustrated and put her finger on my mouth to quiet me. I kissed her, hoping that she understood. I made sure we were both collected and pointed her further down the hall to the bathroom so she could get her self together.

I blew out a big breath and went back into the kitchen. The light was too bright and I felt like I'd just emerged from underground. The party was in full swing. My mother had apparently gotten Jasper to figure out the music and it was loud. People were drunk, talking and laughing. Some guy over by the couch opened a magazine and put it on his head like it was a hat. I heard braying from a group of women. When I looked over they looked sheepish, which made me oddly nervous, and then my mother was next to me telling me to go help my father at the door, which, impossibly, still seemed to have more people coming in than going out.

-o0o-

I got myself another drink and looked for my brother to have a word with him in private, while also keeping my eyes on Bella to make sure she was all right. I chit chatted with friends of my parents that I'd known forever.

When Jasper found me, the first thing we each said to the other was, "What the _fuck_ is going on with you?" but he also managed to say "You first" just before the Mrs. called him back to coat duty. We exchanged looks that said the discussion wasn't over before he walked away.

I went to find Bella who had suddenly gone out of range. When I found her again she was in the kitchen listening to my mother jabber away, holding a plate filled with more appetizers. I followed her out of the room, ignored the plate my mother held out for me, leaned in to Bella and whispered, "Put that stuff on the sideboard and come with me." She shook her head no, and went about her rounds.

I wandered down to the living room, which was mostly empty and cold, to collect myself. I got the fire going and when I was satisfied that it was, I finally settled into the rhythm of the night. Dinner passed and then dessert. New drinks, brown drinks, sweeter drinks were all brought out. Coffee too. Some people left, but there were too many stragglers to actually be called stragglers. These were the stalwarts, of which Jenksy was one of the best.

My father invited us all back to the living room, and as a pack we made our way. While I stoked the fire again, groups of fours and fives talked amongst themselves, sometimes shouted over to another group, and generally enjoyed the hell out of themselves. Jasper, Emmett, Bella and I hung around the fireplace drinking and growing overly warm, occasionally turning our bodies as one side grew overheated, but never venturing out of its compelling glow. Bella's skin glistened. I wanted to touch her bare shoulders, kiss the freckles on her back, but busied myself with the poker and the flames.

After a while, the room seemed to split into factions, my mother's team, my father's team and the "young people," as my mother insisted on calling us.

"Maybe one of the young people would put on some music?" When Jasper stood up she cautioned, "Not too loud, though."

As a few more people wandered into the room, my mother asked, "Maybe a few of the young people would bring some extra chairs from the dining room into the living room?"

Emmett, Jasper and I stood up. Bella looked like was going to get up too and I shook my head. "Chivalry, remember?" She grinned up at me.

"Maybe a couple of you young people would be kind enough to check and see if the dishwasher can be emptied yet?"

_A couple._ I didn't need to be asked twice.

I pulled Bella up with me and, in fact, the dishwasher _did_ need to be emptied and re-stuffed. I didn't let Bella touch a thing, just lifted her up onto the counter to watch me work. I had the machine organized like the fucking Dewey Decimal System in no time flat. This was my signature chore and I was its master.

Bella clapped her hands when I was done and I bowed then leaned into her to get my reward. She accepted my kisses, but apparently being caught making out twice in one night was enough for her and before long we were back in the living room just in time to hear one of my mother's friends shriek, "I _know_! It's so_ romantic_!"

Followed by another who said, "The love letter is a completely lost art." A few heavy sighs issued in the direction of the men.

Jenksy, ever the accommodating flirt yelled over, "I sent you a love letter once, Maggie. Remember? You ripped it up and threw it in my face."

"If I remember correctly, that was a _bill_," she countered to general hilarity.

"For services rendered," he guffawed, along with the men on his team.

"Your services were rendered obsolete a long time ago, J. Scott Jenks," Maggie said in irritation, then turned to her team. "We have book club now, don't we?" They all giggled at whatever secret she was conveying.

"There was just a study done on female sexuality and the resurgence of bodice rippers. You know what they call it?

Maggie arched her brow at him.

"Menoprose." The accusation hung in the air.

She picked it up and did her best to counter. "Need I remind you that you have reaped the benefits of my leisure time reading?"

The crowd got quiet and Jasper whispered, "TMI, Mags."

My mother felt the awkwardness and stepped right up to cover for her friend.

"Well, anyway, the article I read on-line was simply lovely. It was about romance in the digital age."

I felt the right ventricle of my heart squeeze shut, as did my left eye. My mouth opened in disbelief. This is the woman who can't plug in an iPod, has a phone with a cord in the kitchen, who finds her reading glasses in the refrigerator on a regular basis.

"I read that," one of the guys said. "I heard it was from a gay website." He looked meaningfully in my direction.

My father instantly countered with, "It's probably a publicity stunt," with a poignant look at me.

Apparently, as the resident gay guy, I was also responsible for any and all marketing hoaxes foisted on the unsuspecting public. "Well, actually – " I tried to steer the conversation away, but it was only gathering steam.

"Stop," my mother said, interrupting me. "I need to believe that it's real. The _tête à tête_ between those two gives me hope that romance isn't completely dead."

"I agree, completely," said Maggie.

Jenksy snorted. "Oh Maggie, if you held your lips hostage an inch from mine, I'd let you believe anything you wanted," said Jenksy.

I opened my mouth in stunned disbelief as the room dissolved into laughter.

Bella looked slightly amused, but none the worse for wear. For a split second it occurred to me that she wasn't forbiddenfruit, but there wasn't a chance in hell that was possible. All this time I was nervous about some fucking nameless, faceless internet threat, when the Mrs. was going to take me down in front of the girl I lo...

_Shit. That too?_

The blood in my body pooled at my ankles, which were feeling a little too loose. Despite the fire, I got a chill. It felt like I was traversing a minefield, and despite my earlier intentions of owning up to Wordybastard, suddenly I was in a race to reveal myself before I was outed by my fucking mother.

_Out of fucking time, again._

She needed to know, but not this way.

"You've had a long day, I think I should take you home," I said and grabbed Bella's hand, tugging her up from the floor.

My mother continued relentlessly. "What's her name again? It's funny." She snapped her fingers a few times to help her remember. "Like Adam and Eve." She continued snapping her fingers, and I knew she'd do it until she finally dredged up the information she was looking for.

I interrupted. "Well, thanks Mom. Thanks, Dad. I'm going to take Bella home. We'll let ourselves out. Don't worry. Bye." I pulled Bella slightly toward the door and she stumbled just a little bit against me.

Emmett gave me what could only be called the stink eye, while my brother ignored us and continued to poke at the fire, hypnotized, lost in thought. Bella wasn't hurrying to go anywhere either, and I had a strong desire to yank her out of the room.

My father looked at me like I had gone insane. "It's only eleven o'clock, Edward. I'm sure Bella won't turn into a pumpkin if you keep her out past midnight."

Maggie shrieked out, "Forbidden Fruit!" and clapped her hands, like she was a contestant on a game show. My mother looked slightly chagrined that she hadn't been the first to remember, and tried for double jeopardy.

"Oh, and his name is... don't tell me this time. Don't tell me. I know it." She started snapping again, faster this time, and I knew my luck had run out. The sound was like a bell tolling my death sentence.

_For whom does the finger snap? It snaps for thee._

"Bella, please," I whispered urgently. She gave me an inscrutable grin and tucked her hair behind her ear. I loved her ears, but even the tiny pink shells couldn't distract me from my terror. I gave her the most miserable look I could muster, considering my face seemed to have frozen into a smiling mask.

She finally seemed to take pity on me, though, and turned toward the door, just as my mother yelled

"WORDY BASTARD!" and rapidly patted the coffee table in a series of staccato movements next to her drink. "Yes! I knew I'd remember it. By the way, did you hear they found them?"

To which my fucking brother - finally snapping out of his fucking pyromaniac reverie - said, "Wordy Bastard? Hey, Edward. That's your -"

_Boom._

I had him on his feet and into the dining room before he could say another word, Bella all but forgotten.

"What the fuck?" he said, partly amused, partly pissed.

"I'm Wordy Bastard."

"I know you are, you dick," he said and punched me in the bicep, then rubbed his own where I'd grabbed him. "That shit really hurt."

"No, I mean, I'm him. _Him_ him. I'm the one they mean."

He gave me a weary look. "I have absolutely no fucking idea what you're talking about."

So I had to tell him the whole thing in a harsh whisper, starting with Bella's blog all the way through the media pick-up, though I left out the story of how we met, not quite ready to deal with the implications of _that_ revelation. When I was done, he laughed and started heading out of the room toward the kitchen.

"Where are you going?"

"I'm going to look at her blog."

"Like fuck you are." I grabbed him around the shoulders and tried to spin him back toward the living room. "I need you to help me get her out of here."

"She doesn't know it's you?"

"No. Absolutely not. I don't think so. Maybe. Doubtful."

"Well go tell her, you dipshit."

"I can't just tell her, like it's no big deal. '_Hey Bella, guess what? You know that freak that's been posting dirty stories to your blog and commenting on your naked pictures. That's me. We cool? Great. Let's go to your house and do bad things. Oh, but first, let's go talk to the reporters_."

"Unfuckingbelievable," he said. "Only you."

"Are you going to help me get her out of here or what?

He said, "Yeah, sure. I'll knock her out, you throw her in the trunk," just as Emmett and Peter walked into the room.

"Who's going in the trunk?" Peter asked and put his hand on my shoulder.

"Edward is," Jasper laughed. "He's been in the fucking trunk his entire life."

Bella showed up in the room and signed, "What?"

I grabbed her wrist. "Remember that thing I was going to show you earlier? I need to show it to you _right now_."

Bella looked at me like I was insane.

Peter's eyebrows creased and he said quietly to me, "Why don't you come visit me tomorrow afternoon?"

I had no idea what he was talking about, and didn't have time to deal with him, so I just nodded and led back through the house, down the side hall where all the coats were hung, through the mudroom, and off to the side porch, which was just a little bit of decking and three stairs. Nobody ever used this entrance unless you were sneaking in or sneaking out.

The night was cold outside, colder than it had been in a while. The wind whipped Bella's hair around and she shivered. I wrapped my arms around her and pulled her in to me.

I didn't know where to start.

She put her hand in my hair, stood on her toes and brought my mouth to hers, all in one fluid motion. I felt like I was being resuscitated. I held her face in my hands and did my best to show her that I was alive. Her breath was so sweet, and her cheeks so cold and round. My tongue slipped into her mouth. I lifted her up so she didn't have to stretch and sat her on the porch railing. I nestled between her legs.

I put my hands on her thighs to balance her and accidentally on purpose my fingers slipped underneath the hem of her dress. She crooked her legs just slightly behind my knees until we were balanced against each other.

My heart pounded hard in my chest and I kissed her harder. I moved my hands a little further up her thighs to make sure I had a good grasp. She wrapped her arms around my neck and when she pressed her breasts into me I had to move my hands up a little bit more to correct my hold.

We seemed pretty sturdy and I tried again. "Okay, so I have to tell you something important. And I know we have a lot to talk about, but..."

She pulled my face to hers to stop my panic. And I pressed my forehead to hers. "Bella, remember when we met? Not the first time, but at the church? Do you remember when you said you had hope for me?"

She smiled and inhaled, remembering, just as a pair of headlights swept into the driveway. We were mostly in shadow, but suddenly I felt like we were a pair of criminals and I just didn't know how to say what I needed to say.

It didn't even seem so wrong anymore. My fear wasn't tell Bella that it was me, it was my fear of admitting who I was, admitting that I had no idea what I wanted, of where I was going or how I could possibly figure it out, that I was all over the place, and had made a spectacular mess out of everything, and worse, that I had a creeping suspicion that I'd have to cut myself adrift from everything I found familiar in order to find a place to anchor.

To share this with someone who I knew hardly at all, but who was oddly the most familiar person in my life, seemed both foolhardy and courageous at the same time. Like having the audacity to speak my name out loud to the cosmos and hoping against hope that I would be acknowledged, accepted, at least not ignored, but to do that, I had to admit who I was.

It was an admission that seemed to come so easily from her, one that she had insisted I understand at the very first possibility of us.

But it was out of my hands now, because it wasn't a choice anymore. Gone was the opportunity for the heroic gesture, for the candy ass excuse, for the motherfucking middle ground apologia. If they knew who we were, we were both being outed and my time for dithering was up.

"I'm Wordybastard."

She slipped down from the railing and pulled me against her. The look on her face was more than I could have hoped for. Her eyes held something I didn't even _have_ a word for. I kissed her and opened my mouth to tell her I was sorry when Jasper appeared out of nowhere and said, "Shit just got real, bro," and cocked his head back down the hall. "You gotta come in."

**A/N:** With love & an immense debt of gratitude to SweetDulci, Wonderwallthefirst, Einfachmich and ElleCC for keeping us on track (and to everyone who reads and urges us on). xoxoxoxoxoxo


	12. 12

"What's going on?" Instantly protective of her, I couldn't help the growl.

He pushed the screen door wide and said one word. "Out-laws."

Bella's eyebrows raised in perfect arches. She looked slightly dangerous and still mildly mysterious, but when she blinked I saw her extreme vulnerability. I put my hands on either side of her face and kissed her softly on the mouth. "I'm so sorry."

She nodded.

We followed Jasper back down the hall, through the mudroom, through the sea of coats, toward the teeming great room, which was full of people in various stages of departure. When I caught a glimpse of the new arrivals, I automatically aligned my body behind my brother's.

"Fuck." I practically spat the word into the back of Jasper's head.

"You can say that again," Jasper said.

"Fuck," I repeated.

Bella squeezed my hand, either to remind me that she existed or to give me courage, and I squeezed back guilty and grateful.

We emerged, single file, into the room. The first thing I heard was my mother-in-law's lockjaw tones, acquired by mimicking what she thought of as a cultured voice. "Esme, you look absolutely darling!" Standing next to her, Newton was in the process of helping Tanya shrug off her coat. My mother took it and handed it to Emmett who took it with a smirk.

My father-in-law, in contrast to his wife, didn't look excited to be here in the slightest, but shook hands enthusiastically with my father. Their arms sawed back and forth so vigorously that it looked as if they were trying to cut a log in half.

Jasper's said, "I gotta see a man about a horse" and headed straight for the booze, leaving Bella and me exposed. Tanya's mouth opened in shock. So did my father's. Time stood still. I could feel my heart beat in Bella's palm, or maybe it was hers in mine. I pulled her closer.

My mother blinked twice at me, gave a little frown, and then snapped into action. "Irina, have you seen Maggie? I'm sure she'll be very disappointed if she doesn't get to say hello to you before she leaves." she asked, grabbing her hand. "And Felix, I'm sure you must be starved." The Mrs. nodded while she spoke, indicating the appropriate response. My father-in-law nodded back involuntarily and she dragged them both back into the fray.

Newton simply stood there, with as confused a look on his face as any he'd worn through high school. I didn't know what the fuck to say, so I said the first thing that came to mind. "You remember Bella," and brought her hand up like we were on _The Amazing Race_.

_Yay!_

Tanya gave Bella a haughty look, snorted and then made an about face, followed by Newton. Emmett abandoned us to, I assumed, deposit the armload of coats he was carrying, which left only my father, who looked like he wanted some kind of explanation.

Bella pointed at their retreating forms and signed something with her hands. I pretended I didn't understand, not wanting to do what I knew I had to. The look in her eyes, which moments ago had held so much promise, seemed unsure. She simply nodded in the direction of Tanya and Mike. I frowned at her, needing to make us right, to get back to a moment ago when I had shown her the beginning of who I wanted to be, and not who I was. She tried to turn my shoulders and give me a push. I didn't move.

"No, listen to me. Bella. I'll talk to her tomorrow," I said forcefully, gesticulating as much as she. "This..." and I used both index fingers to alternately point back and forth from me to her, "is more important."

Bella shook her head furiously, her lips pressed into a line and pointed rigidly after Tanya. When I didn't move she moved her flattened hand sideways and touched it to her lips, then pinched her index fingers gently to her thumbs. With each hand she made an outward circle, which she completed by touching her fingers firmly in the center, then pointed purposefully into the crowd again. When I furrowed my brow in frustration, she brought her hand up near her mouth and started to spell it out to me one letter at a time, her lips moving in a tandem, silent dance.

I felt my anxiety start to drain away as I focused on the movement of her fingers and the shape of her lips.

I-M-P-O-R-T-A-N-T

F-I-R-S-T

It was impossible to misinterpret what she was saying. If it was anyone else, I could stall for time by picking the words apart to look for deeper meaning, but Bella was nothing if not straightforward. I didn't want to do this now, but she was right. And the sooner I could take care of it, the sooner I could take care of Bella.

I kissed the side of her face. "Don't go anywhere," I whispered then turned to my father. "Can you take care of Bella for a few minutes?"

My father gave me a reassuring look, crooked his arm through Bella's and said, "Come and buy an old man a drink."

-o0o-

I made my way through the house, but couldn't find Tanya. I spotted Jasper, who was talking to a few people I didn't know, and headed over to him, trying to decide whether to thank him for the heads up or punch him in the throat for interrupting Bella and me.

"Can I borrow you for a second?" I asked as charmingly as I could. Jasper dipped his head so we could have a private word, but before I could saying anything, Newton fucking strolled up like he owned the place and put his arm across my brother's shoulder. Jasper instantly shrugged him off, and tossed back the rest of his drink.

Newton laughed. "What's up with you and that chick? You're a switch hitter now?"

My hands curled into fists and I leaned into him. "Say one more word to me, Mike, and I will rip your fucking –"

"Gentleman!" Peter said brightly and clapped me on the shoulder, interrupting what was sure to be the most satisfying punch I ever threw. I stared at Newton, trying to control my temper.

He couldn't hold my glare and looked around the room. When he spotted Dr, Jenks yukking it up with Maggie over by the fireplace, he excused himself, and made a beeline for him, which included a stop at the bar, a quick hello to some other people, and then a nonchalant check of his BlackBerry in the dead center of the room so as not to seem obvious.

"Guilt is always jealous, Edward," Peter said, his voice uncharacteristically slurred.

I couldn't control my anger and said, "I don't need your platitudes, Pete," as Emmett strolled up, wearing his fucking shit-eating grin. He cocked an eyebrow at me and mouthed "Chuck Norris" in approval, then he handed my brother another drink, raised his own in toast, and in a tone altogether too earnest said:

_To smut. _

Jasper snorted and charged his glass with Emmett's. Peter shrugged, then knocked back his own drink.

It occurred to me that the three of them were drunk off their asses, though Peter and Jasper seemed to be more the worse for wear. I scratched the top of my head and closed my eyes, then ran my hands over my face, hoping to reboot my mind. Peter squeezed my shoulder and I turned to him, incredulous. This night had gone so utterly wrong, and the longer I was away from Bella, the more I could feel the panic of where we had left things start to seep in. I needed to take Bella away from the crowd and unwind the mess I'd gotten us into.

I turned to Emmett and said, "Give me your keys -" but stopped abruptly when Tanya appeared behind Jasper, planted a loud kiss right next to his ear, then took his glass and a long sip of his drink.

She swallowed and grimaced. "Bourbon, yuck," she said then tossed the rest of it back in one shot.

Jasper fucking hated Tanya, but he gave her a look of admiration anyway and said, "Well, if it isn't my favorite ex-sister-in-law!" He had always called her his "ex-sister-in-law," even when we were still in high school. They had loathed each other from the start. She actively so. He with cool indifference.

"Ha ha," she said dismissively then pouted at me. Her red lipstick looked cruel. "I didn't mean to crash your coming out party, Edward."

"What are you doing here, Tanya?"

"I was up this weekend visiting my parents. I wasn't going to come, but when Mike insisted you wouldn't mind, I figured it was okay."

I glanced around the room to spot Newton, imagining how amazing it would feel to drag him outside and kick the living shit out of him.

"I hope we're not going to be like _that_ about everything, are we?" She continued.

Just as I was about to tell her how "like _that_ about everything" I was going to be, I noticed that the raucous din of the crowd had all but disappeared, and every person in my line of sight was conspicuously not looking at us. Bella was standing with my father, and when I caught her eye, she looked down quickly and tucked her hair behind her ear. My father immediately escorted her out of the room.

Tanya noticed the scene we were causing, too.

"Can I talk to you in private?" I asked.

She contemplated me for a moment then looked around the room, trying to figure out which would work better in her favor, a quiet conversation somewhere or a tantrum in front of a crowd. When she spotted Mike, a bit of self-righteousness seemed to drain from her face, and she nodded.

I lead her upstairs to my room and closed the door behind us. Out of habit I clicked the lock, then instantly turned the knob back, unlocking it. I nearly opened the door a crack, but in the end realized I was stalling and left it closed. When I turned around Tanya was sitting on the edge of my bed, leaning back on her elbows looking around my room, which Esme had surprisingly allowed to remain basically unchanged since I'd left after high school. In the dim light of the bedside lamp she looked so much like the girl I used to know.

When she noticed I was looking at her, though, she sat up straight, squared her shoulders and put on her "dealing with Edward" face and instantly morphed into her mother. I saw Irina's calculating look in her daughter's eyes and grew cold; all ability to analyze or empathize blocked behind a solid wall of detachment.

I wondered at which point we'd become opponents.

Tanya crossed her arms and blew out a short, sharp breath.

_Game on._

"So. Let's stop the nonsense, Edward. I don't know what you're doing with that girl, but this is absolutely ridiculous. I know you're trying to prove something to everyone, but I'm prepared to forget everything that's happened and let you come home, but you're going to have to make some concessions. We'll tell everyone you had an early mid-life crisis, and we can get back -"

"I'm not trying to prove anything to anyone and I'm NOT having a crisis," I yelled. The loudness of my voice in the enclosed space shocked me. "I'm not having a crisis," I repeated more quietly. The word hung in the air between us, and though I'd denied it, it was highly accurate.

_A process of transformation where the old system can no longer be maintained._

"You're being silly. Let's just go home and figure this out. I know this isn't what you want."

"This isn't what I want, but I don't want what you think I want, either." I sounded idiotic. Repetition had become the way I dealt with her, all ability to speak my mind clearly was gone, and predictably, as I slipped into the numbing fog, she began systematically picking apart my sentences, backing me into a corner with my own words, the result of which was only ever my instant defensiveness.

"What don't you want?" she asked. "A future? A family? A little stability?" she asked in a petulant tone." I don't think it's all that unreasonable."

It was reasonable, but it was beside the point. "That's what _you_ want."

"Don't give me that. You want the same things I do, you've just gotten off track. You may not realize it, but you're very close to having everything you ever wanted."

I tried to focus, to force my brain to be clear. "No, Tanya. I'm quite sure it's exactly the opposite."

She stood and took my hands and gave me a sympathetic look, then proceeded to speak to me like I was a child. "The opposite of what?" She asked, willfully not listening to me, and then she fucking _tsk'd_. "Oh, Edward. You don't see yourself clearly. You will be so great some day. I've always seen your potential. You just need to get past this phase, or whatever it is, and come to your senses. Put away all of this nonsense and do what you're good at. You can have your cake and eat it too, but you need to face reality. Real life is boring most of the time, you just - "

I ignored the sting of her casual castigation. I smirked to myself at the word, which sounded like "castration," which was probably the more appropriate word, and concentrated on what I knew I didn't want, as opposed to what I did.

"The reality is that I can't be this asshole ad guy."

"Mike says you're the best ad guy he's ever worked with," she replied, bolstering her case in the worst possible way.

"As if he would know," I sneered, then continued, "Which brings up an excellent topic of conversation. Why are you here with him?"

"I'm not here_with_ him, if that's what you mean." She looked down at her manicure, which was perfect.

"Well, he is definitely here _with_ you, Tanya - although to be honest, he's got the hots for Jenksy, too."

She frowned at me. "Well, at least Mike has a clear vision of his future. He's going after something. You could learn a thing or two from Mike."

"You want me to be like Newton?" I gaped at her and rubbed my face. Then I laughed.

"Go ahead and laugh, Edward, but Mike isn't the kind of guy who'll give up... who just walks away when it gets hard... just when success is within reach... "

I contemplated calling him on his fucking BlackBerry to come and get her, but I heard the end of her harangue. "... I don't want this all to have been wasted time. I've given you my best years."

"Your best years?" I replied. "You're fucking twenty-seven years old."

"You really don't get it, do you Edward?"

"No, I don't." I wasn't fucking kidding, either. I was at a complete loss.

"When we got married, it was because we wanted the same things."

"We got married because you said it was time, 'the next logical step,' if I remember correctly. But really, I think it was because your friends were all getting married and you didn't want to be the only one left out."

By the time Tanya had proposed via ultimatum, we'd been together so long people didn't even refer to us independently. In retrospect it was clear we'd never talked about what we'd wanted as individuals, we hadn't really existed separately at any point in our adult lives. Except when we'd "taken a break" in college to experiment. I'd never even been with another girl, really.

In truth, we'd stopped treating each other as individuals too, only as extensions of ourselves and specifically, the parts of ourselves we didn't like. I wasn't sure we had ever even looked each other directly in the eye. We'd both given up our chance to find someone who made us feel passionate in favor of the "logical" and "obvious" choice.

"Sometimes I think you only married me because I was there and I fit the suit," I said.

"Fuck the suit," she said. "I married you because _we_ fit. We were happy and it was easy."

"Easy? Is that why you married me?" I yelled and opened my mouth to say something vicious, but she stopped me short.

"You know what?" she said ready to match my volume, then paused and spat, "Fuck it. Never mind."

"No! Bullshit _never mind_. You've been _never-minding_ me for too long. I'm sick of being managed by you."

"I'm not _managing _you."

And we immediately reconfigured our positions into the same old postures we'd taken for years. What we did couldn't even be considered argument, a logical declaration of facts that built to become a clear, concise and undeniable point of view. What we did was fucking "he said, she said" bickering, throwing the same words back and forth as if echo would convince one of the other's stupidity.

I took a deep breath and stopped, then started again, trying not for offense, not for defense, but for honesty. "Okay. Tanya. Let me just... " I blew out a big breath to get myself together. "I thought we were on this adventure. I thought I was... we were... going to discover something... do something amazing with our lives, not instantly turn into our parents. For fucks sake, the first thing we did was get a mortgage."

"You wanted an adventure?"

"Yes."

"Are you high Edward?"

"You know what? Fuck you, Tanya."

"And I _like _our parents," she said, all uppity and superior.

"I like _my_ parents," I said and laughed, like a dick, then instantly apologized. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be a dick."

"Yeah, except you _are_ a dick," she smirked. "Don't you understand, Edward? We're married. This is just how it is. It's _normal_."

I shook my head no, because I wanted more, even if I couldn't say what more was. Neither of us said anything for a few minutes. I'd spent a fair amount of time with Tanya in this room, and it occurred to me that I could have done a better job of thinking things through when I'd had the chance, for both of our sakes.

Almost as if she knew what I was thinking she said, "I know you're not happy."

"I've tried to explain it to you."

"Not everyone's marriage can be like your parents."

"And I'm supposed to find that acceptable? Do _you_ find that acceptable?"

"Life isn't some fairy tale," she said. "It isn't always happily ever after. My god, you are such a pretty, pretty princess, sometimes. Why isn't your room pink?" She said, daring me to come back at her with something.

The words lined up in my mouth, but I didn't take the bait. "This is my whole point, Tanya. I haven't even started. Why are you always focused on the end?"

"This _is_ the end, Edward."

Her words hit me like a blow. I was stunned at how awful I felt. Tanya's face was stony, and I remembered how soft it had been. I had done this to her. We had done this to each other. I didn't know what to say. I felt a huge sense of loss. Suddenly there wasn't an ounce of fight left in me, so when she started the interrogation, all I could offer was honesty.

"You were holding her hand."

"Yes."

"You never hold my hand anymore."

"You don't even like me, Tanya. You haven't liked me for a long time."

"I can't remember the last time you looked at me like that. Happy. Certain."

"Are you happy, Tanya?"

She stopped for a minute, and for the first time in forever it felt like maybe she heard what I was saying. When she spoke next, it felt like she was talking more to herself than to me. "I want to be... If I could have that with someone else, right now, I might not hate you for having it first."

I didn't know what to say. She was right. She deserved for someone to be thrilled by her, but so did I. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to be like this." I tried to hold her hand, but she snatched it away. It was too late anyway.

"I'm not ready to be friends," Tanya said.

"I understand," I said, and shoved my hand in my pocket.

She sounded tired when she said, "We were never friends, I don't think."

She was probably right. I wondered if Bella might consider me a friend? If that's what I thought of her? If perhaps that's where things had gone so terribly wrong here. I resolved that when I made it out of this room I would be a friend to Bella.

She brought me out of my thoughts with her next words. "But I thought we were good partners."

"That's cold," I responded and thought back to her email from earlier in the week, the way she was systematically divvying up our stuff. I spoke before I thought through the implications of my words, "I don't want a marriage that's a business arrangement, a corporation... "

The look on her face stopped me. She was shocked, but I couldn't tell if it was because I said it that way, or because she recognized what I was talking about.

I thought about her parents, Her mother always seemed to be scheming against her father. I remembered how surprised I was when they left Tanya alone for three weeks during senior year to go on vacation. Separately. To two different countries. I was thrilled to be able to have all that time unsupervised with Tanya in her bedroom, by the pool, on the kitchen counter, and in her parents' bed, but it bothered me all the same.

And I remembered when she'd told me that her mother had told her she put a little money away from the household budget into her own secret account. "Just a couple hundred dollars, every month. Just in case." The memory gave me chills.

"I read your book," she said.

My body grew cold, imagining the evidence she now had against me. I barely heard what she said, her words sounded rambling and nervous, which was rare for her. Even at her most insecure, she was never anything less than convinced of her own rightness.

"I spilled a glass of water on the nightstand and didn't know if you had another copy, so I tried to save it. I left the pages out on the counter to dry, but they got out of order and I tried to sort it properly," she said, then laughed. "But, honestly Edward, it was all pretty random anyway."

I didn't know how to feel: pissed that she'd invaded my privacy, fury at myself for having left something behind, proof of my inner dialog for her to judge me with, or indignation at her fucking literary criticism.

"It was so sad. "

I forced myself out of my head and focused, ready for the analysis.

"That's you, isn't it?" she asked. "When he says he's 'resigned to his fate.'"

I nodded my head at her.

"Edward, just tell me," she said and let out a heavy sigh. "Have you've been this unhappy the whole time?"

I felt completely claustrophobic. When I'd written those words, I had tried to write a story that borrowed from my life, but didn't reveal anything about me. I guessed if I read it now, it would read like a diary, and it would be easy to see what a miserable son of a bitch I'd been.

How could I possibly explain that I'd never known that it was an option to feel another way? That unhappiness was relative? That once I'd realized that the kind of passion I'd only ever read about actually existed for me, I could no longer accept our steady arguments and calculated comfort. I couldn't. There was no reason left to be cruel, and I didn't have the words to make it sound any other way.

I shrugged.

"And now?"

"Now I feel like maybe there are options."

"The deaf – I mean the disabled – you know what I mean – the girl downstairs? She's made everything different for you?"

I ached for Bella knowing that these were the definitions that would be used to describe her, but I ignored Tanya's stuttering and simply said, "Yes." I knew it was wrong to rely on someone else to make my life a possibility. I knew it had to come from me, but I didn't feel entirely sufficient.

_Except when I was with Bella._

I couldn't do it by myself, and I wanted to be honest, because Bella had made a huge difference, so I said it again. "Yes, she has."

It got quiet in the room and I tried to explain. "I don't feel like I'm the bad guy in this story when I'm with her."

"_Are_ you the bad guy, Edward?"

"I feel that way. Like it's always my fault."

"Were you sleeping with her? Is that why you were learning sign language?"

"No." This was not technically inaccurate, but no good was going to come from a detailed explanation of the subtleties that would show my lie. I didn't want to hurt Tanya any more than I already had, and I didn't want to give her more ammunition to use against me, or worse, against Bella.

"I'm not perfect, either," she said.

"I never expected you to be perfect, Tanya."

"Yes, you did."

For some fucking reason, maybe because we were sitting in my bedroom, and the banners were still pinned up on the wall, the trophies still on my bookshelf, one of which even had the fucking foam finger with #1 Trojans on it from the year we won States, I had a vision of her when she was a cheerleader, all tits and ass. The vision in my head was clear as day and it occurred to me that I was never in this for the right reasons - or could have even imagined that there might be better reasons than simply winning a basketball tournament or getting the girl.

_Go. Fight. Win._

It was like every opportunity I'd had to make a choice, I'd refused to do it, and just let fate, circumstance and others' decisions push me along. As if I could negate my own responsibility when things went badly because it hadn't been my decision. All glory, no guts.

I was never the quarterback.

Tanya continued, when I didn't offer a denial. "Honestly? I loved knowing you thought I was perfect. I reveled in it. You're not the bad guy, Edward, you're just really dumb for a smart guy."

I almost thanked her, but then thought it would be more appropriate to tell her how sorry I was, but in the moment it took me to decide, she kept on.

"You have always been an asshole, but you are a good person." She studied me for a second, then continued. "It would almost be easier if I could see you as the villain. It just sucks that I'm the first person you ever decided to say 'no' to."

"Don't you want more than this, Tanya? You can't tell me you were happy. You certainly didn't act like someone who was blissfully in love with the man you married."

"I thought that maybe if we had a baby, it would give us something in common again."

"Shit, Tanya. You can't think..."

"No, I know it wasn't the best idea," she looked almost wistful as she interrupted me, "but it doesn't mean that I wasn't willing to try."

I was stunned by her admission. She looked at the floor, and I could tell it had been a difficult thing to say, but the relief I felt at having dodged that bullet was enormous.

"I never really got all your philosophical bullshit," she said, and looked up to meet my eyes. "But it felt so good to be near you..."

"Tanya, don't... "

"I was smarter and prettier because you picked me," she said.

"You picked me, not the other way around," I said, feeling the need to clarify, momentarily falling back on my need to abdicate ownership of this whole thing.

"I did. I picked you and now you are distinctly not picking me..."

_Jesus Christ._

"... and you know what?" she continued. "That's okay." I watched her building herself back up, removing herself from me. "Because I want someone who is picking me."

"All the guys wanted you," I said. "They all still do."

"Even though I'm old?" she asked, and huffed out a breath. She said it like it was a joke, but the look on her face told me how uncertain she was.

"You aren't old and you're beautiful," I said. It was the truth.

She stood up and straightened her skirt. "Well, I'm going downstairs to let the boy who wants me take me home."

"Christ that hurts, Tanya."

"I should hope so."

"I don't know if we could have had this conversation if we'd had it a long time ago. I can't say I would have done anything differently," I said.

"Stop talking like a grown up, it makes it harder for me to stay pissed at you."

"Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't know how to be a grown up. I'm fairly sure I won't ever be. Maybe Mike is." I paused, then laughed. "God help us, if that's what being an adult is like."

She frowned, then laughed. I liked hearing her laugh. I hadn't heard her laugh in a really long time. "God you're an asshole, Edward, but I think I will go out with him. I could use someone who is a little star struck by me right now."

"Newton? Are you sure?"

"He'll do. For the moment."

I closed my eyes and took in a deep breath. It seemed so wrong, but who was I to say what was right?

"Don't over think this, Edward," she said. " Mike's a good guy and I don't feel like I'm not meeting his expectations all the time."

"You'll wind up stuck back here."

"That's the difference between you and me. I like it here, and I never felt stuck. I like being near my family, and away from the crowds. I wish we had never left. I like to know what to expect, what comes next. I like to stay at home, watch stupid TV shows and have lunch with my friends from high school..."

"I guess that's it, then," I said. "What I want, is the opposite of that."

With the line so clearly drawn, my mind hummed, a thousand possibilities spinning to life. I felt sad and energized. I felt like I needed to move but not to race. I wanted to get in a car and drive, without destination. I just wanted to grab Bella and go.

_Go._

The word triggered a sound in my head, which bubbled into a feeling, which jogged a memory. I thought of something I'd written inside a notebook that was buried in a box somewhere in this room. Maybe I had known all along, just like Jasper, what my truth was - except it wasn't a tangible goal. What I wanted just was.

_"For West is where we all plan to go some day. It is where you go when the land gives out and the old-field pines encroach. It is where you go when you are told that you are a bubble on the tide of empire. It is where you go when you hear that thar's gold in them-thar hills. It is where you go to grow up with the country. It is where you go to spend your old age. Or it is just where you go." _

_Go._

"We should go," Tanya said when I didn't, and nodded her head toward the door.

"I guess we should."

She turned to me as we were about to leave the room. "Let's just... not stretch this out, okay? I'm keeping the apartment. It's close to work for me, and it's already decorated. I'll buy out your half."

"I don't want the apartment."

"Good. I talked to Jane. She gave me the fair market value."

"I don't want the money, either."

"Whether you want it or not, you're taking it. We're leaving this on equal footing. I want to stand on my own two feet too."

Standing in the doorway, the sadness I felt was almost as vast as my sense of relief. Tanya looked strong and fragile at the same time.

"I'm sorry, Tanya."

She nodded. "I know. Me too. See you around, Edward. Good luck."

And I let her go.

I gave Tanya a head start, because despite our talk having ended amicably, I didn't want to give the wrong message by walking down "together."

It didn't matter, when I got downstairs, Bella was gone.

And for some reason, it wasn't a surprise to me at all

* * *

**A/N:** With love & an immense debt of gratitude to the usual suspects: Einfach Mich, SweetDulci, Wonderwallthefirst, and ElleCC for keeping us on track and insisting it be true (and to everyone who reads and urges us on). Xoxoxoxoxoxo

Edward's Bedroom Epiphany was brought to you by "All The Kings Men," Robert Penn Warren


	13. 13

**11:47pm**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re:** Are you okay?  
I'm coming over.

* * *

1**1:53pm**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re:** Are you okay?  
I'm fine. Kind of. I need to take care of some things. I wasn't exactly prepared for this to happen the way it did.

It's not you, it's just. Everything.

* * *

**11:54pm**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re:** Are you okay?  
I'll be there in ten minutes.

* * *

I left without waiting for her response and took Emmett's car, because it was the easiest to get out of the driveway. It still took me almost twenty minutes and by the time I was able to back out, I'd driven over the center island, and just managed to stop from backing into a Mercedes with doctor's plates parked diagonally across the turnabout. I almost reversed into it anyway out of pure enthusiasm.

Halfway up the mountain my phone buzzed and the alert light flashed red.

* * *

**12:34am**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re:** Are you okay?  
Don't. I'm already at the train.

* * *

I downshifted to gain momentum. The engine strained slightly and I pushed the gas, thumbing the keys in panic.

* * *

**12:35am**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
NO. No. No. Don't get on the train. I'll be there in ten minutes.

* * *

I focused. The car and I became one, the tires holding tight to the road. Complete control. Fast. One goal in mind. The more time that passed the angrier I got. I switched the phone to my left hand as I steered, waiting for the blink of the red light to indicate her response. I couldn't believe she wouldn't give me this, and floored it.

When I couldn't stand it another second, I sent her another email.

* * *

**12:45am**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
I'm almost there. Are you on the platform? I'm in Emmett's car.

* * *

I couldn't even fucking remember what kind of car it was. All I could think was that it was too late for her to be out wandering around the train platform downtown.

The wheels screeched when I skidded into the lot. I left the car running, lights on, and jumped out, trying to spot her, yelling her name, texting and emailing at the same time like a maniac.

* * *

**12:45am**  
**TXT E:** Silver Audi.  
I'm on the southbound side by the ramp.

* * *

**12:46am**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
I'm on the platform. Where are you?

* * *

**12:46am**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
I'm fine. I'm on the train.  
I'll find you tomorrow once I get things figured out.  
Please.  
Give me some time.

* * *

I couldn't believe I'd missed her. I couldn't believe she'd gotten on the train. I couldn't believe that after everything that had happened tonight, this was how it was ending. If she was going back to the city the trip would take a little over two hours and without thinking I got back on the highway, heading in the same direction, realizing I had no idea if that's where she was going. The train could be going all the way down the fucking Eastern Seaboard for all I knew.

Other than her email, her phone and her fucking blog, I had nothing.

And so I begged.

* * *

**12:48**  
**TXT E:** Get off in New Haven.  
**TXT B**: I can't.  
**TXT E**: Yes you can.  
Just get off at the next stop.  
I'm already driving.  
I'm on the highway.  
I'll meet you there.

* * *

The delay in her response filled me with dread. In my mind I apologized to Emmett for having mocked him for buying a high-performance car that he hardly ever drove and which cost as much in monthly garage as a mortgage, then punched the gas and become worse than relentless.

* * *

**12:52am**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
Where are you going? Are you going back to the city?

* * *

**12:53am**  
**TXT E**: Get off in New Haven. I can be there in half an hour.  
Please.  
**12:54am**  
**TXT B:** Then what?  
You don't even know what you're getting yourself into.  
**TXT E**: Stop. I don't care what I'm getting myself into.  
Get off the train in New Haven.  
We can talk there.  
Bella.  
Please.

* * *

She didn't respond. I knew what I must have seemed like, but I refused to give in. I needed her off that train. I needed to finish the conversation we'd started months ago. I needed her to hear me. I needed her to tell me. Whatever it was. I held off texting her again as long as I could, but when I heard the train whistle I realized the highway was running parallel to the tracks. I shifted into fifth and watched the RPMs drop. A calm focus spread over me. I felt alive with purpose. The speed was dangerous, texting worse, but the car had a mind of its own and I had never felt so intact.

* * *

**12:59 PM **  
**TXT E:** Please get off the train.  
**TXT B**: I have an appointment in the city early tomorrow morning.  
**TXT E**: I'll drive you.  
I have to go back anyway.  
We'll go tonight.

* * *

I wondered what kind of appointment she had on a Saturday. Despite the fact that I spent almost every weekend working, it wasn't a "business" day in my book. I worried that she might have a doctor's appointment. Some kind of an emergency. I worried what other kind of appointment she might have. What kind of urgency would prompt her to leave at midnight, or if it was really just an escape. I figured I was twenty miles away from the next stop, and pushed the pedal harder.

The alert light caught my eye.

* * *

**1:01 AM **  
**TXT B**: This is something I need to do.  
**TXT E**: Whatever you need to do.  
I'll drive you.  
Do not stay on the train past New Haven.  
Say you're getting off.  
**1:03 AM**  
**TXT B**: Is your wife ok?

* * *

This was fucking obfuscation and I knew it. All of this needed to be discussed and the last thing I needed was distance. I saw the train gaining on me in my peripheral vision. It might not have been her train, but the silver blur and the lights were like a provocation. It pulled ahead, but I pressed the gas and the buttons on the phone simultaneously and kept going.

* * *

**1:07 AM **  
**TXT E**: She's fine.  
Everything is fine.  
I'll tell you all about it.  
I see the train.  
Get off at the next stop.  
**TXT B**: Are you okay?  
**TXT E**: I'm fine if you're getting off.  
I see your train.  
I'll be in New Haven the same time you are.

* * *

I couldn't wait for her replies anymore. I needed constant contact. Any break in communication became inconceivable. If I lost her now, she was gone.

* * *

**1:08 AM **  
**TXT E**: Tell me you're getting off the train.  
Please, Bella.  
Get off the train.  
**1:09 AM **  
**TXT B**: Okay  
No  
I can't  
Fuck  
please

* * *

Our words crossed and I didn't know what I was responding to anymore. I didn't care what I sounded like. The overlap in the conversation created a time delay, which made it worse.

* * *

**TXT E**: Okay you're getting off?  
Yes you're not getting off?  
No?  
Just get off.  
**TXT B**: I can't handle this  
**TXT E**: Yes you  
**TXT E: **Get -  
Wait.  
**TXT B**: I'm sorr  
**TXT E**: Do not..  
Bella. Stop.  
**TXT B**: I just need a minute, a day, something  
**TXT E**: You can have as long as you want.  
GET OFF THE TRAIN

* * *

I was fairly certain I was going to fucking crash the car while texting.

* * *

**TXT E**: I'm calling you.

* * *

I hit the button for her number. It rang four times before the voicemail picked up. I disconnected, redialed and texted her again.

* * *

**1:10 AM **  
**TXT E**: Answer the phone.  
Answer your phone.  
It's ringing.

* * *

**B VOICEMAIL:** _"Hello. This is the TDD service for Isabella Swan. Please hold while we connect to your party."_

* * *

When the digitized voice kicked in, I banged the wheel and was fairly sure I broke both my hand and the steering column in the process.

* * *

**B VOICEMAIL:** _"Please speak clearly into the receiver. When you are done speaking, say "over."_

* * *

I hit redial. Voicemail.

* * *

**1:11 AM **  
**TXT E**: ANSWER THE PHONE.

* * *

**1:12 AM**  
**TXT E**: I'm not leaving a fucking message.  
**TXT E**: ANSWER THE FUCKING PHONE

* * *

I hit redial again and her text appeared.

* * *

**1:13 AM **  
**TXT B:** Edward, I can't answer.  
TDD is as good as it's going to get here.  
**TXT E**: I'm not trying to leave you a fucking message.  
I want you to hear my voice.  
Listen to me.  
**1:14 AM **  
**TXT B**: k

* * *

I redialed and tried to get myself under control. It rang three times before I heard her answering silence.

I pleaded like I have never pleaded before in my life.

* * *

"_Bella, please get off in New Haven. I'm begging you. I'll drive you to New York. You don't have to tell me anything. I need to finish the conversation from earlier. Or not. Whatever you want. I love you. Please. Please get off the train. I love you. Get off the train. Whatever it is it doesn't matter. Please. Please. Get off - "_

* * *

The dial tone cut me off, but I had nothing to risk and everything to lose.

* * *

**1:17 AM **  
**TXT E:** Getting off highway.  
Meet you in the front.  
**1:21 AM**  
Pulling into the parking lot.  
Be in the waiting room.

* * *

Nothing.

* * *

**1:23AM**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
Fuck. I can't do this!  
Let me handle this first. Believe in me. I promise I will figure this out. It doesn't always have to be this desperate, this frantic.  
Just give me until tomorrow.  
We both have things in our lives that need to be handled before this is going to be right.

* * *

**1:24pm**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
I can't do this now. There aren't any other trains that will get me to the city on time, and I - there's no way you'd still drive me after you hear what I have to say.

* * *

**1:25AM**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
What can't you do? Why are you doing this? What's not right? I don't understand. I'm walking to your gate. There's nothing you can say that will not be okay. It will be okay.

* * *

**1:26AM**  
**TXT E:** I'm here. Where are you?

* * *

**1:27AM**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re:** **Are you okay?**  
Are you on or off?

* * *

**1:27AM**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
You got off. Right?

* * *

**1:28AM**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
Where are you? On or off?

* * *

**1:36AM**  
**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
I missed the stop.  
Just give me a day. You took care of your things. I need to take care of mine.

* * *

**1:36AM**  
**From:** Edward Cullen  
**To:** Isabella Swan  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re:** Are you okay?  
What is going on?  
I need to see you. Tell me where you're going. I can meet you at Penn Station. Or at your apartment. I don't even know where you live. I don't even know where you're going. I'll meet you for breakfast. Bella. Please. Please. Please. I'm staying at the train station until I hear from you. Give me your address. Tell me where you're going. Please. Just text me now. Tell me what's going on.

**-o0o-**

Standing in the tunnel under the tracks, caught between the north and south platforms, I didn't know what to do. The shiny white tile glowed in the caged lights. I was furious, my sense of loss unfathomable. I felt powerful, like I could take the fucking building down brick by brick. I saw everything I'd ever done wrong in my entire life in perfect detail. It all rained down on me. And still I couldn't understand why she didn't get off the train.

I had no idea what to do next. Race the train to Penn Station, and hope that's where she would be? Drive back to my parents and wait to see what would happen? Continue to plead with her. Hunt her down.

I sat in the waiting room of Union Station in New Haven to collect myself. The dark wood benches were long. They looked like pews, except for the few homeless people stretched out on them, using them as beds. A janitor on a miniature Zamboni rode past me and steam cleaned the marble. The moist smell of chlorine and grime caught in my nose.

Adrenaline pumped through my body. My heart felt as if it had been ripped out of my chest. This was a new feeling. I knew I should be cautious, logical – but with every second, I saw that train in my mind speeding away. Everything was clear, like hyper-reality, the shapes in the huge hall in bold relief.

The phone rang.

It was my brother.

"Yo, Wordy! Just calling to make sure all is well." He sounded enthusiastically drunk.

"I'm in New Haven."

"What the fuck?" His confusion turned almost instantly into glee. "Dude, bring back pizzas."

"I had to chase Bella's train."

"That some kind of euphemism?"

"She left."

He blew out a breath. "Where'd she go?"

"Back to New York, I think."

"So you're on your way back?"

"I don't know. I'm trying to decide."

"Come home," he said.

"I think I'm going to drive to the city."

"No. Dude. Thas not a good idea. Wan me ta come and get you? I'm fine to droove."

_Clearly not._

"I'll lose her if I don't go right now."

"Aren't you being a little mellerdramatic. Go in the morning."

I ignored him. "Jasper, is this what it's like?"

"C'mon home, we'll talk."

And that was all it took. I didn't want to talk about it with anyone but Bella.

"Jasper, I'm driving in. Tell Emmett I'm sorry about the car."

And I hung up.

**-o0o-**

Back on the highway I figured it this way. The train had a straight shot, but there were at least two more stops between New Haven and New York. I didn't know what kind of traffic I'd hit, but I was in the supercar. Fast, tight, nimble. I floored it and the G-force pressed me back into the seat.

The highway paralleled the train tracks through Stamford, but I forced myself to stop worrying whether each train I saw was hers, and concentrated on getting to Penn Station in under two hours. Flying down the road, a cell phone rang. It wasn't mine.

I looked around and saw lights flashing near a cup holder and checked.

Jasper again.

"Hello?"

"Dude. What are you fucking _Grand Theft Auto _now?" Emmett growled. "You've got my car, my phone and my wallet."

"I have the keys to your apartment, too."

"Fuck. You are killing me."

I heard Jasper saying something in the background, but couldn't make it out.

"Turn on the radio and hit the first button," Emmett said.

"Why?"

"Just do it, Duardo."

When I did I was instantly surrounded by Emmett's voice through the speakers. I heard Jasper's voice again, and then Emmett's "Hang on, Baby Brother. I'm working on it."

"Hello?" I said into the car's interior.

"Okay, you're on speaker here too," Emmett said, sounding pleased.

"Y'alright?" Jasper said, followed by, "One jack."

"Bullshit," Emmett said.

"Fuck," said my brother.

"What are you guys doing?" I asked.

"We're playing drinking games," Peter laughed, then said, "Three deuces."

_Peter?_

"Bullshit," I said.

Peter's voice said, "Never bet against a priest, Edward."

Both my brother and Emmett laughed.

"No, I meant... "

I heard the distinct sound of cards being shuffled. The sound was soothing in spite of the knots in my stomach.

"One three," said Emmett. "Maybe you should give her a little time."

I knew he was talking to me. "Are you going to stay on the line while I drive?"

"One four," said Jasper. "Whatcha gonna do? Meet her at her house?"

"Four fives," said Peter, and nothing else.

Nobody said anything. Maybe this was the nature of faith? Completely trusting in the fact that he was full of shit and letting him get away with it.

"Six," said Emmett.

"Why are you playing this game?" I asked. "Why aren't you playing poker or something?"

"Nine sevens," Peter. I heard more laughter, but no one called him out on the fact that he'd played out of turn and was clearly a lying sack of shit.

The darkened scenery was flying by in a blur of lights and I had the road pretty much to myself. When I passed Bridgeport, I felt like my chances were better than even that I could get there.

Jasper slurred, "Okay okay okay, _wait wait wait wait._"

I heard a noise I recognized as accompanying Emmett's grin and it occurred to me that they were being - cute?

"New game, new game, new game," he repeated. "Now wur gonna play somethin' else."  
I heard movement and the clink of glasses.

Peter said, "Wus the game?"

"S'called_ I Never_. Ev'ry one takes a turn and says what they never did and if you did it, you drink. No questions asked."

"What?" Peter and I said in unison.

"It's like a confession by proxy, Duardo," said Emmett. "You say something you've never done. If I have done it, I take a shot. If I haven't, I don't."

I heard more clinking. I looked out the window and saw another train speeding along parallel to me. I was pushing ninety miles an hour.

"That doesn't sound like much of a drinking game," I said. I figured I could have gone all night on shit I'd never done and stay stone cold sober. This was like a fucking Mormon drinking game.

Peter's voice suddenly said, "I've never had sex."

The laughter that echoed in the dark of the car was surreal.

Emmett continued to fucking guffaw, but Jasper was patient. "Okay, firsht, Pete," he snickered, "I understand why you drank to that, you deserve one, but techinic" – he belched – "tenichally – tellinach - whatever-the-_fucknical_ - you only drink if you did something." I heard two glasses smack down on the table."

"My turn," Emmett said. "I've never ever, never, never, never ever been dumped."

"What is that? A challenge?" Jasper asked.

More laughter.

This seemed like something I couldn't drink to if I was playing, then remembered there was a fairly good chance that I might be speeding my ass off to experience exactly that - even though we weren't _techinically_ – _tenichal_ -

_Mother fuck._

We weren't actually going out.

I gripped the wheel tighter. Technically I was in love with her, but literally we hadn't spent more than – I tried to add up the time in my head – twelve hours with her in real life, including tonight. In person. And a lot of time spent with her words. I wondered how many words per minute I read. I had no clue, so gave myself another forty-eight hours, just to be on the safe side because I'd read a lot of her words more than once. A lot more than once.

Forty-eight hours virtually, plus twelve hours really. Technically and literally-philosophically too-I had fallen in love with Bella in under three days.

This didn't seem possible – and I figured I should add in all the time I'd spent thinking about her, which didn't seem quite right. I remembered the way it had felt to be inside of her, my chest pressed into hers, her back pressed against the bookshelves, her legs around my waist, the way her wrists felt as I held her hands up and away from her body, her finger tips gripping the wood.

_This is not a memory_, I reminded myself. "I never fucked a girl in public," I said out loud, forgetting I had an audience.

Emmett snorted, then laughed.

Jasper cleared his throat just like The Dr. did when he was about to be forthright. "Well, Edward, I think we can all not drink to that."

"You go then," I said to Jasper.

"Yeah, you go," said Emmett.

The space in the car got silent. We all waited. This was going to be good. A minute passed. I knew this because the lights on Emmett's dashboard were mesmerizing and the clock pulsed as the seconds ticked.

"You're taking too long," I suggested.

"You're making me nervous," said Peter.

"I'm trying to think of things I haven't done," Jasper said. "Gimme a sec."

"You can't think of anything you haven't done, or you're trying to pick from amongst the vast array of things you haven't done?" I said.

More silence.

Jasper gave a tiresome sigh and said, "Fine. Here's one. I've never been to confession. Not once."

Peter spluttered, "That's not possible. You've been to communion."

Silence in the car. Silence on the other end of the line.

Peter said, "Do you belong to a church, Emmett?"

"I'm a child of the universe, Father - equal opportunity."

We all thought about this a little bit. I passed downtown Stamford and felt a moment of euphoria, before I saw another silver blur speed past.

"So Baby Brother, what is this confession thing, anyway?" Emmett asked, at the same time Peter said, "I'm here if you want to talk," and I assumed he was talking to me, but I wanted to listen to Jasper's description of something he had apparently never done.

Anyway, I wondered what part I could possibly tell Peter that would help him understand.

_"A guy walks into a peep show... "_

It was like telling the most cliché dirty joke in the history of dirty jokes.

"Alright, so you get in line - " Jasper said.

"You have to wait in a line? Like at the fucking bank?" Emmett sounded astonished.

Jasper laughed. "Okay, well. You get in line, _if there is one_, outside the confessional, which has a little door. It's like a phone booth."

"Is it like the Tardis? Small on the outside and huge on the inside?"

"What the fuck is a _Tardis_?" I asked then remembered it was the time travel machine from Dr. Who. I nodded to myself. "Yeah, it's exactly like that, Emmett."

Peter broke in, sounding suddenly sober, and said, "It is the confession, not the priest, that gives us absolution."

"What, does that come with the manual?" I asked.

"Actually, Edward, that comes from Oscar Wilde," he said.

I stared at the darkness, beginning to plan my re-entry into the city. Having made it almost to the outskirts in record time, I didn't want to fuck it up by getting stuck a mile out. Jasper continued, "So, you go behind the curtain and you rap at the window. When it slides open, you have to say - uh - "

"The Act of Contrition," I prompted.

Jasper said, "Yeah, exactly. You say The Act of Contrition."

Emmett whispered, "_Battlestar Galactica_, Season One, Episode Four," with reverence.

Peter said, "Exactly," my sorry ass all but forgotten.

"Then what?" Emmett asked reverently.

"You say something about the pitiful excuse for a human being you've become. Right, Peter?" Jasper said. I was sure he was all dimples when he said this. Sweetheart on steroids. "And then he will probably say -"

"Amen," Peter said.

Emmett said, "And then do I say, 'So say we all?'"

I heard the grin in Jasper's voice. "Yeah, say that. Then Peter will give you a few words of advice, and you slip all the money in your wallet into the slot in the window."

I almost had a stroke at that comment shook my head in the darkness of the car.

"What if I'm not forgiven?" Emmett asked.

"Do you really want to open your heart to a god that isn't going to forgive you?" Peter commented.

_Priest versus God. Fucking Chuck Norris_, I thought and smiled in spite of myself.

Jasper laughed and I heard him stand, his chair sliding along the floor. "Alright, sports fans, I'm going to bed. Gotta work in a coupla hours."

Emmett said, "I'm dead, too."

I had no idea where they were going to install Peter for the night, but it wasn't my problem. I turned off the radio.

The sky was bright on the horizon where the neon glared. I figured I was ten miles out and would go down the west side rather than deal with cross-town traffic.

The phone rang again and I answered by turning on the radio.

"Hello?"

"You wanna tell me what's going on?" It was Peter.

I started out sarcastic. "Bless me father for I have sinned, it has been three years since my last confession." I listed the same things I always had. "I have murdered, plundered, and pillaged," then added for the sake of clarity, "and I have also been uncharitable."

But he didn't take the bait. "Actually it has been more like five years since your last confession."

"You keeping track?"

"Your confessions are highly amusing, Edward. I look forward to them." He paused to let the chastisement sink in.

"And I had - uh - I had impure thoughts." I added.

Peter said nothing.

"About someone that wasn't my – that wasn't Tanya."

"Did you act on those thoughts?"

"Technically," got that fucker right this time, "technically no, but yes."

"You think you're going to get off on a technicality? This is for your benefit, not mine. Either you have something you want to get off your chest, or you don't."

"Yes, I acted on it."

"More than once?"

"Yes, but it's not what you think, and it's not why Tanya and I broke up."

"Why then?"

I snorted, because the answer seemed suddenly obvious. "Because we're both asshole_s."_

"Edward, that isn't actually a sin, _per se_, it's more a judgment. How have you been an asshole?"

"Everything sucks, everything is a compromise, and there isn't one thing in my life that lives up to its potential - except for Bella."

"I wondered when she was going to come up."

"But she's gone."

"I know."

"You know?"

"She sent me a text that she wouldn't be helping at mass for a while."

_She knew she wasn't coming back. _

I felt justified in my insanity. All question in my mind as to whether I was doing the right thing by making this frantic drive was erased by the fear that if I didn't catch her before she disappeared into the anonymity of the city, I might not find her again.

"When did you get it?"

"About twenty minutes ago."

"Father, I need to focus on traffic."

"Hang in there, Edward. Go easy with her. Go easy with yourself."

"Yes, sir."

The rest of the drive was uneventful, because it was after two-thirty in the fucking morning on Saturday. The neon of 24-Hour parking sign on Ninth Avenue felt like a harbinger of good things. I drove down the ramp, handed over the keys, and ran inside to check out the arrival information.

I stared at the monitor, but couldn't find a train from Hartford. I wondered if I'd gotten it all wrong after all, then remembered the train originated in Boston.

Time. 2:35  
From. Boston  
Number. 2159  
Track: 12  
Status. 0:10 Late

She was late - fucking fantastically, beautifully late. My watch said 2:38a.m. I took off for the gate and slammed down the steps to the virtually empty platform, with minutes to spare. I peered into the tunnel to check, then checked emails for the first time since I'd parked.

* * *

**From:** Isabella Swan  
**To:** Edward Cullen  
**Re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re re: **Are you okay?

Edward,

I know your head is spinning. I can almost hear the words, so many words, in your mind. When I got on the train, somehow I expected to suspend our animation, as if I could put us on pause while I handled these things which are suddenly huge and out of control and then just let time keep moving once everything was back in place.

Things are a little complicated for me for a lot of reasons, which is probably the most obvious statement anyone has ever written. There is something I have to take care of. It wasn't entirely unexpected, but I'd hoped to have tonight to put the pieces together with you before the real world came knocking. However, it may be for the best for right now.

This is beginning to sound a lot like goodbye, which it isn't, I don't think. But it can serve in the place of the "See you later" that you should have had in person tonight, or the "have a good day," I had hoped to send you off with tomorrow morning.

I'm sorry I didn't get off in New Haven. Even now I wonder how long I will regret it, but I HAVE to get to the city tonight, and if I'd seen you again, I may have lost all sense of what I'm supposed to do. That happens when I'm with you.

I need you to know that I'm not angry that you're "Wordybastard." I think I imagined you even before we met. We all have these fantasies, don't we? It shocked me when you appeared, but not when you disappeared. I was happy just to have had the little bit of time we spent. I want to say "together" – though it was an inside-out kind of intimacy – but when you went away I couldn't let the idea of you go.

I posted, thinking of you, and when words started appearing that seemed like they could be yours, I started to hope they could be, but I only felt like I deserved them if you knew it was me, because I would have been jealous if you'd given that much of your heart to someone else while I ached for you, or rather, the possibility of you.

By the time I came to believe it really was you, I was afraid I'd lured you into this under pretense. Though I can assure you, it's all me, there is so much more you need to know. I'm sure there is a lot that I need to know as well, and I wanted to have the chance to exchange all these unknowns for certainty and truth, but, as usual, time and circumstance are against us.

I'm so sorry.

From the very first time I met you, you made me feel beautiful, desirable, you made me feel like there were possibilities that hadn't existed before. Not just sexually, but for those parts of me that people are generally put off by or that are too personal to show. For once, I felt like all the different pieces of my life came together, and I can't tell you how much that meant.

I don't tell anyone what happened to my voice, because I decided long ago that I wanted it to be irrelevant. I wanted to be seen for who I am, not the remnant pieces of a childhood trauma. I am still whole.

Yet I want to share even this with you, because I want you to know all of me, to share every secret. Though really, it's not much of a secret, just a simple bicycle accident when I was young, a crushed larynx and enough scar tissue to turn a voice to a rough whisper, and eventually to nothing at all. It was a slow fading away.

I used to sing all the time. My mother says I had a beautiful voice. Praise and attention is a seductive thing to a child; to anyone really. The feelings I had after, when people told my mother what a quiet and well-behaved little girl she had weren't nearly as affirming. I was young enough that I couldn't appreciate the fact that I was lucky to be alive, just knew that I was different, and that people felt badly about it if they knew why. I've learned to embrace the different part, but I still reject the pity.

It's important that you understand that there is no cure, and I'm generally beyond feeling afflicted. Truthfully, I keep waiting for you to run; expecting it, really. When I see or hear your frustration at our unorthodox methods of communication, I hold my breath, ready for you to give up rather than continue trying. That you keep pursuing, is a wonder to me, and speaks more about who you are than the superficial details that seemed so profound and drew me to you in the first place.

You are tenacious, and it thrills and frightens me. I am completely unprepared for you in my life, and yet I can't stop from wanting you there. Wanting to give you more of me than just the satisfaction of a physical need, though at times that need seems to drive me to you beyond reason.

I have one big thing to fix. Let me do it. Let me be reasonable tonight. Let me figure out what's next, and then I'll find you.

Bella

* * *

I finished just as the train pulled in.

As it slowed, the windows turned from bright blurs into frames. When it finally stopped, the hiss of the sliding doors tweaked my nerves. At one end of the platform a few tired kids with backpacks stepped out, already holding a map. At the other a conductor rocked on his heels officiously, then stepped forward into the train to help lift a huge black suitcase over the gap between the train and the platform.

And there she was, struggling with the biggest fucking bag I had ever seen.

"Can I help you with that?" I asked.

Her mouth fell open in astonishment, eyes and the tip of her nose red. She'd been crying. I moved the bag out of the way and pulled her into my arms. "Fuck being reasonable," I said before covering her lips with mine.

* * *

A/N: With love, to you, from us.


	14. 14

Bella curled in to me and wrapped her arms around my neck, her nose pressed into my chest. I buried my face in her hair and breathed her in. Having convinced myself I had lost her, I couldn't believe I hadn't.

We hung on tight. Her body was slight and soft under her leather jacket. The tension of the past several hours started to dissolve and I pulled her even closer, exhaling with relief.

Her shyness over whatever she was wasn't saying, my sense of almost loss, the shock of what it felt like to be back in the city, back to living without super-imposed rules, and the stunned disbelief that this was where the night had ended, brought an overwhelming silence to both of us, but the gasp of the train doors closing got me going again. I looked down at her face and saw surrender. I imagined I looked exactly the same.

"Let me take you home."

She nodded.

I hoisted the monster bag over one shoulder and she tucked herself into my side. I put my arm around her and walked through the empty terminal in a state of exhausted exhilaration. The way Bella's hand gripped mine, I knew she still had misgivings, but I decided not to push.

When I got us back to the garage, the fluorescent lights made me surprisingly happy. I couldn't let go of her even to pay the cashier. I pressed her against the ledge in front of the window, one arm wrapped around her waist, and put my credit card down. We were both on the same side of the glass. I couldn't stop smiling. The clerk smiled back. I smiled harder. Like it was a fucking competition I was going to win.

-o0o-

She lived in the East Village, off St. Mark's. Which was too fucking perfect. Even this late, it was packed with people, and they all looked just like she did when I'd first met her, this do-it-yourself thing of clothes and hair - attitude. How many times had I been here, passed her on the street, not knowing she even existed. Even if we had met in other circumstances, I doubted she would have given me a second thought. I felt out of my element, wretchedly mainstream, overly responsible, a fact which was reinforced when it took me a while to find the right garage to stash Emmett's car in rather than park it on the street.

We got to her building and climbed the five flights to her apartment, tacitly agreeing that I wasn't simply dropping her off. When she opened the door, the bag slipped from my shoulder and dropped heavily to the floor. The air between us snapped and crackled. She closed us in and put her palm on my chest. I stepped forward and took her in my arms, and wrapped myself up in everything about her – hair, jacket, skin, zippers, buckles, and belts – brought all my senses to life. The leather smelled of something in her pockets. Mint. Something green. I pulled her to me harder and she gasped, my hands drifted through her hair, tipping her face up to mine. Her breath was sweet and hot. I kissed her greedily, wanting her to tell me everything, wanting not to know.

I had needed her all day, for too many days, for months, forever. The desperation of wanting to touch her, to see her naked, accepting me, wanting me, without barriers was all I could think of. I pushed the coat from her shoulders and let it fall to the floor, greedy for every inch of skin. My mind followed my hands, every curve and crease an enticement. The memory of what she let me do to her in her room, of what I didn't do to her in her room was too much.

There were still things that needed to be said, but I had no words. I felt as though, if we waited, everything would disappear and reveal itself to be just a dream. I wanted to give in to the chaos for once, to not be in control, to silence my mind by burying my body in hers.

But I knew she hadn't expected this tonight, might feel overwhelmed, perhaps still didn't even completely want me here, so I pulled away an inch or two and looked at her face to make sure she was all right. She smiled and lifted her hands from my chest and touched the tip of her middle finger to the back of her hand, then poked it against her chest above her heart. I watched her lips move in the dim light echoing what her hands were saying.

"_Touch me." _

It was a request. It was permission. I pulled her into my body, desperate. I told myself to go slow. She wrapped her arms around me and twisted her fingers in my hair. I did the same, pulling her head back to give me more access to her neck so I could suck, but when she gasped, slow became a sheer impossibility.

She twisted in my arms as if to lead the way and I wrapped them across her waist, pulling her back to my chest, unwilling to let any space between us. She turned her head over her shoulder latched on to my mouth. We moved together through the dark room. I didn't know where she was going, but I followed blindly, until we jerked to a standstill and she fell forward against the arm of a stuffed chair that had risen up out of nowhere, her round ass up in the air. My momentum caused me to grind against her and I thought, _Oh god, please stay exactly where you are_, but then she let out a breath of air like a soft laugh, and pushed herself back up. She smiled and kissed me, and I pocketed the image of her bent over like that for me for another day.

We started moving again. I didn't know where she was going, but we grabbed at each other, half-assing our clothes off. It didn't know if she was heading somewhere or if she wanted me to take the lead. When I got caught up in pulling off my t-shirt, she wrenched me down unexpectedly by the waist of my pants. I fell without seeing and landed heavily on top of her on the couch, knocking a surprised breath out of her. My knee thrust in between her spread legs; her jeans acted like cuffs and restricted her movement. I moved her legs further apart trying to disentangle us. The back of her fingertips brushed against my skin where they were hooked in the front my waistband, trapped between us. I groped forward blindly to find a place to push up and stop from crushing her and she slid her hand down further onto me, the tips of her fingers brushing against my dick.

Every angle of our bodies was wrong, and yet the need to touch her everywhere, to let the clumsiness accelerate where her hand was going, take what she was giving, show her how good we would be, was overpowering. I propped myself up and pressed her against the back of the couch, my size and weight an advantage. I wanted her to feel how strong I was, how hard, how fucking badly I wanted her. She managed to get one leg free and wrapped it around my waist, effectively removing all other thoughts from my mind.

I slid my mouth down to her jaw, down to her neck, licking, sucking, and biting, until my hands found the buttons of her blouse. I fumbled with every fucking one until she started to help, our fingers wrangling the shirt open. I gasped when I looked down at her and my reaction was the same as it would have been when I was fourteen years old.

_Fuck, look at her breasts._

She smiled almost self-consciously then moved both hands to my belt. I propped myself on one arm to give her room. While she worked I splayed my hand across her belly then moved up until my palm found the roundness that swelled under the lace. I slid my hand around to her back, unhooked her bra, and pushed it up. Bella unbuttoned my fly and teased a finger under my shorts. I pulled her closer, to give her better access. I pinched her nipple and watched her face when I cupped her breast. She knotted under my hand and moaned a breathy humming sound. Her arm moved up and she traced her fingers along the shell of my ear, along my face, directing my mouth to her skin. I scratched my jaw against her breast and she squirmed into me.

I drifted my hand back down, across her stomach, which buckled slightly at my touch, then slid underneath the elastic at her hips. The silk was nothing compared to her skin. I went slowly. Imperceptibly. Trying to stop time. No thought of anything after now.

She gasped again when I nudged her panties aside. Slow. Slow down. The only words in my head. Don't rush. Keep it slow. I wanted to own her ache, wanted to sharpen it with my own edgeless desire, make it pointed and hard. I brushed my fingers over her, through her, sliding down, then back, stroking, dipping into warm wetness.

"You are so beautiful," I whispered onto her mouth.

She tugged my jeans and boxers down over my hips at the same time. I had to move to help her, since she was pinned under my weight. She hitched her leg up, hooked her foot through a belt loop and slid them further down on one side, opening herself further to me in the process. Her mouth found mine as her hands found my dick and took firm hold. Her grip was tight, insistent. When she started rubbing up and down I groaned words whispered out of my mouth against her ear.

"Let me fuck you."

Her eyes grew dark and glittery. I felt like I was her secret, as much as she was mine, and that I'd suddenly said the magic word. Even though she was caught beneath me, I felt like she was the one in control. I needed to fuck her and I didn't care what it sounded like. This is how we had started and maybe this needed to happen first, before I over thought it, before I worried what she'd think of me if I pushed too hard, before I second-guessed where to touch her and started being too careful, playing it safe.

Now that she knew who I was, my imperfection gave me permission to show her what I was made of.

In the tiny bit of space between us one of her hands made a lazy "Y" shape, and she dropped it in front of her chest in emphasis. As if to reinforce her point, she licked her pink lips and mouthed, _"Now."_ I nodded and kissed her because I understood.

I kicked my pants off as much as possible, but it took too long and one leg stayed on. I pulled hers off, enjoying the slide of the fabric, the way her calf fit in the palm of my hand, another image for another day. I stood and lifted her up. She wrapped herself around me; her thighs were around my waist and I skidded briefly against her entrance. This was happening right now, but I needed us to be somewhere that I could have leverage, somewhere I could have some authority over my own body, in addition to controlling hers.

I lifted my head and looked around the room. There was a doorway that led to a hall. There had to be something more accommodating back there, even if it was the floor.

"Bed?" I asked. She nodded.

I picked her up off the couch. Trying to walk in the dark, jeans wrapped around my ankle, my steps became precarious. She ground against me. Her hands twisted and twirled in my hair. Fireworks sparked behind my eyelids. She knew what she was doing to me but trusted I wouldn't let her drop and purposely started to slide down onto me. I had to stop and pinned her against a wall, her weight perfect in my arms. While her fingers danced along my shoulders, my back, everywhere they could reach. I spread her open with the fingers of one hand, twisting and rubbing, squeezing her ass with the other, while kissing any part of her I could find. My mouth found her eyebrow, her cheeks, her eat, a mouthful of her hair, while we tasted and teased.

She sank down and I tried to thrust up against her, but it wasn't enough. I couldn't get the right angle, I couldn't concentrate, and I didn't want this to happen this fast, to have my orgasm ripped from me without being able to control it a little, without even being inside of her. "Fuck, Bella, " I said into her mouth. "Hang on." I kicked off my pants, pulled her off the wall and walked deeper into the apartment until the dark opened up and the neon of the city showed me a bed.

She was wrapped tight around me, her face tucked against my neck, her hair along my back, but when I laid her down on the bed, the look on her face ratcheted everything up another notch. Her mouth was puffy from abuse, her lids heavy, and her body, fuck, it was full and ripe and ready.

_For me._

"Bella," I gasped, my heart racing. This was too much. This was not enough. We were going too fast; we were going too slow. I bent my middle finger at the knuckle, and moved it upward to my chest. "You know how I feel, right?"

She put her hand on her own chest and smiled.

And that was that.

Except I didn't have a condom.

And I didn't like the fact that she did, but I had to make peace with that shit pretty fucking fast.

We got through that awkwardness quickly and when I forced her legs apart, it was for real. I rubbed against her swollen wetness, feeling the lazy thickness of her desire. She made tiny sounds, like she was trying to say something, maybe a whimper, a small sigh. I had never felt so tender and fierce at the same time, but when I pushed into her, I was shocked at the rush of sensation, at the discovery. This was a brand new world.

She blinked, looking as surprised as I felt, and I moved just slightly, gently, rocking. She shifted up into me and closed her eyes, but her hands fluttered in front of her chest, fingertips tapping, lips saying _"More."_ I got tunnel vision, focused on her, only on her, and we found a fast pace. Her back arched higher, her legs lifted and spread wider. Every time I thrust into her she exhaled, when she hummed she made me wild.

When the pressure started building in my balls, the battle between putting it off and letting go, became unwinnable. I added my fingers in between us to make her come. She put her fingers on top of mine, pressing and prodding until I got the right rhythm, trusting me to do this for her. She dropped her hands and gripped the sheet, Her mouth opened and little panting breaths shot out . I held her body as she wrenched and shook, squeezing me inside, and then I put my back into it and she exploded underneath me.

I leaned in close to her ear, still moving, riding out her orgasm, and whispered everything I wanted to do to her, everything I'd imagined, not all of them had to do with fucking; a lot of them did. Her body spasmed up against me. The huskiness of her voice was beautiful, like wind and air, exactly like what it was - the sound of bliss, of fucking rapture. I stroked myself inside her as fast as I could. I told her how she made me feel, how out of control I was when I was with her, how close I was to coming, how close I was, how close.

She caught me with her eyes as she came back to earth, her hand coming to her chest, palms rubbing slow circles around her heart, _"Please, please, please..."_

I locked myself in to her, letting her body pull and squeeze me over the edge. I didn't even know if it was me anymore. Bella bucked underneath me, and I buried myself in her, straining, crying out, until the suck of her body, the tremor in her muscles, the rhythm of her hips meeting me thrust for thrust became too much and with a roar I poured myself into her, swallowed by this person I had become, by us.

I was still inside of her, hands in her hair, lips tasting the salt of her neck, when I collapsed into a fucking coma.

-o0o-

I gripped the sheets and felt her absence, not only from the bed, but from the apartment; the total and utter stillness of the morning, the overwhelming silence, the calm of the light. I stretched, fisting the hem of the pillowcase and thumbed over the monogram.

The fact of the monogram made me laugh, but so did her initials: ISM. It meant something, I couldn't think what. It made me happy.

I slept with my fucking contacts in again, and though they felt like paste on my eyeballs, I immediately saw that her room was bright and organized. The entire wall across from the bed was filled with books. The wall on the street side was painted brick with three huge windows that filled the room with sunlight. Behind the bed were three framed charcoal sketches of female nudes.

On the bedside table was the requisite stack of books, and on top of that was a folded piece of paper with my name on it.

_Meet me for brunch on the corner of 1st and 1st at 11?_

_Bella_

The book underneath the note was titled "From The Beast to the Blonde: On Fairytales and Their Tellers." I picked it up and a yellowed sheet of paper slipped out on which was typed:

_GRIMM INDEED_

_Isabella Swan_

_Senior Seminar: Feminist Studies/Imagining Women_

Followed by notes, which seemed to be quotes from the book.

"… _the heroines of fairy tales are willingly bound by a spell; they frequently agree with alacrity to the change of outward form, in order to run away from the sexual advances … of a would-be seducer... Their metamorphosis changes their problematic fleshy envelope, which has inspired such undesirable desire, until a chosen, more suitable, more lovable lover can appear who will answer the riddle, undo the animal spell, disclose their identity and their beauty and release them to speak again... only a true lover will be able to see past the disfigurement to the real beauty of the person beneath..."_

Followed by her notation: _Selkies__, __Swan Lake, The White Cat_

The note answered one question - she'd had some kind of education - but brought up another. How had she wound up in the booth? I didn't want to put a judgment on it – it was where I'd met her – and as far as that went, we were exactly the same, except that she was obviously brilliant.

I put the book back, figuring she would tell me in her own time, then lie back down to sleep until it was time to meet up with her. The scent of her pillow went straight to my dick, and I couldn't get comfortable. I looked around the room, which was like a treasure chest of Bella, wrapped myself in a blanket and allowed myself to snoop among the items that could be considered in the public domain: pictures on the walls, stuff on tables, books.

I pulled one off the shelf and saw note after note in the margins. At first I assumed it was more school stuff, but in reading I realized they were a combination of personal and analytical. Deep thoughts on fantasy and fairy tale, life and specifically, her life.

"_At what point does she become the danger to him? We are so used to infantilizing and objectifying young girls - especially those that are classified as pretty - is it really an attempt to strip her of her power - to take away her voice? In this event, doesn't the word 'pretty' take on a sinister connotation? I don't want to be pretty. I want to be fierce. I want to be ferocious. I want to be the beast. See Bachelard, Poetics of Rev, word dreaming and gender pg 40."_

I scanned the shelf for the book she'd noted, found the citation and read:

"_From a rose (rose, f.) which licks at marble (marbre, m.) psychoanalysts could easily compose a case history. But by assigning too distant psychological responsibilities to the page of poetry, they deprive us of the joy of speaking. They take the words out of our mouths. The analysis of a literary passage by the gender of the words __- genosanalysis -__ is based on values, which will appear superficial to psychologists, psychoanalysts and thinkers. But to us, it appears as one line of inquiry… for ordering the simple joys of speech."_

Forget undergrad, these were fucking scholar's notes, not the meanderings of freshman English. I felt out of my depth. She had an intellectual curiosity I had only barely glimpsed. Her hunger to understand, to be understood, thundered off the page. I didn't understand a quarter of it, but her words made me want to. Made me want her.

I put the books back, and wandered around the room. Upon further inspection I realized the drawings behind her bed were of Bella. They looked more like art school sketches than anything more revealing than stripping. I imagined her sitting absolutely still while someone observed her quiet lines. The permission to look, the discipline to stay motionless – more nerve-wracking perhaps than stripping in the dark in the booth, showing her tits to strangers while hiding behind a sheet of bulletproof glass.

I wondered if she knew the artist. I assumed it was a guy. I wondered if she'd let him touch her to change her position, just slightly. I traced the figures with my finger, jealous of him, hungry for her.

And breakfast.

I wanted caffeine, food and fucking. In that order.

I took a shower in her kitchen, because that was where the tub was - hooked to the sink in a draconian set-up of garden hose, clamps and wire. The kitchen was a nightmare of gas appliances, dripping faucets and knocking radiators. The windows in the front were open a crack to let out the heat.

I put on the same clothes I had worn the night before, threw on my shoes and headed out earlier than I needed to in the direction of the place we were meeting to get a pre-game cup of coffee.

-o0o-

It was one of those spring days that had winter in the air and summer in the sun. I felt together - like I was one piece. I wasn't worried. I wasn't working. I was happy. I had just had the best sex of my entire life, was definitely having more soon, and I was minutes away from seeing the person responsible for all of the above.

If there was a tinge of concern - because I always had to poke around in my mind to find that one loose string, the one that would unravel everything - it was that I had passed out so thoroughly on her last night, and hadn't been said goodbye before she left for her meeting. In the scheme of things, I thought it was forgivable, but if not, I was more than prepared to make it up to her repeatedly.

And it was fucking Saturday. Not Sunday. Despite the fact that every week had a Saturday, I couldn't remember the last time I'd had one to myself. Which meant I had two days to indulge in everything Bella Swan.

I strolled past the park. The trees were in full flower. Little kids were screeching at the playground. Even the line of people at the food bank looked like maybe there was hope. One of them even smiled at me. The guy was missing one of his front top teeth, but I grinned right back at him and kept going.

It was that kind of morning.

Before I saw her.

She was standing near the benches further into the park, her arms wrapped around herself and looking down. The guy with her was talking loud enough to be heard all the way to the sidewalk.

"I own your sweet ass and if you don't submit to the terms of the deal, you will be a very, very sorry little girl... "

The park was enclosed by a wrought iron fence. My instinct was to jump it, but the spikes at the top were foreboding and I ran to the corner gate, which had a padlock on it. The sign said, "Entrance Closed. Please use entrance on 6th Street."

I never ran so fast in my life. Bella was chopping the air with a downward motion and shaking her head. I didn't need to hear her to know she was saying "No."

I finally got in through the gate. Bella couldn't see me and the guy was only interested in her. His smile was pure evil. "Be reasonable, Bellisima. You know I adore you. Would I do something to fuck this up? We've both worked so hard. From the looks of things it seems as though he's even fairly intelligent. With a little training, I'm sure he'll do fine."

He looked like an extremely dapper fox. Tailored jacket, starched shirt, Italian loafers, cufflinks. This is not what I imagined a _- I couldn't even think the word _- would be.

She continued to shake her head. Her face was on fire.

"Bella. What's going on?"

When she heard my voice, her head snapped up, eyes wide in surprise and warning.

He stuck out his hand to me. It was manicured, soft-looking. "Aro Vultaggio. And you are?"

His name was oddly familiar, and his polished appearance made my response automatic. "Edward Cullen," I said, just as Bella's hand clamped over my mouth. I looked at her like she'd lost her mind. Maybe she had. Maybe I had.

He looked me up and down, his gaze lingering on my shoes. His mouth curled into a supercilious grin. "Now, now, Bella. That wasn't very polite. This is our boy, isn't it?"

She shook her head "No."

His smile was broad. "I must've done something good in another life to have deserved this." Nodding to himself, appraising me, he said, "Perfect. _Absofuckinglutely_ perfect. Camera-fucking-ready."

I ignored him. "Bella?" I asked.

Bella's face was the picture of fury and shame. She made a gesture which didn't mean anything to me, but which I decided meant "get me the fuck out of here."

"Excuse us," I said, but he stopped me when he said my name.

"Actually, _Edward_, I believe you and I have a few things to discuss. You see, our lovely friend is withholding something that she is contractually obliged to deliver and I could use your help convincing her to see things my way - "

"No, no, no," she mouthed to me, shaking her head furiously, pulling my hand. She wrote haphazardly across her yellow pad. "Let's go. Let me explain..."

I nodded and put my arm around her shoulders protectively to take her away.

"- or, would you prefer that I call you _Wordy Bastard_?

I turned back, unable to dismiss the fucking smirk on his face. "Excuse me?"

He snapped a picture of me with his phone, looked at it and grinned. "I have to hand it to you Bella, you done good - maybe you should have gone into casting."

His tone snapped Bella into action. She grabbed my hand. Her lips formed the words "go," her eyes made it urgent, her finger pointed me out of the park to make it clear.

I shook my head no. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

The fucker was looking back and forth between us, smiling. "He doesn't know about your news, does he, Bella?"

She gave him a long, pleading look, which implied something that had nothing and everything to do with me. "What the _fuck _is going on?"

He sighed dramatically. "Well, Edward, it would probably have been better for Ms. Swan to tell you herself, but since you seem to be the reason she is in breach of contract, and I might add, getting herself sued in the process, allow me to enlighten you."

For some reason, the word contract both calmed and frightened me. Contracts were familiar, logical, orderly, but they also implied a seriousness of intent that extended beyond a _wham bam thank you ma'am_, if that's what this was.

I didn't want it to be, but after he told me, I almost wished it had been.

He handed me his card, which was etched with an embossed seal and the name "Imprimatur."

While he spoke, I remembered exactly where I'd heard of him. He was the scion of a publishing dynasty, and known for his fast life and access to important people. Being published by _Imprimatur _was not a small thing. They only put out a few books a season, which were generally accompanied by big write-ups by the highbrow press, and scandalous gossip in the rags. He had taken his family's centuries old business and was turning it into a new media empire.

"... in short, Miss Swan owes me a completed manuscript, continued maintenance of her on-line activities, and one-hundred percent cooperation in any and all marketing efforts put forth on behalf of the book launch this fall - details of which she agreed to when she happily accepted the advance we provided."

I stared at her, my mouth hanging open. Her face flamed in fury and shame.

"And if she doesn't get her sweet ass to my office on Monday, ready and willing to give an exclusive interview to an important editor who I have been cultivating for this exact purpose for over two months, and is now frothing at the mouth to hear every fucking gory detail about the love affair between Forbidden Fruit and Wordy Bastard, then she is going to find herself back in that tawdry little box I dragged her out of."

I looked at her and stammered. "It's not true. Bella. Tell me it's not true."

She looked at me, her eyes searching, her mouth open as if she had forgotten she couldn't speak. I almost expected to hear her voice. She put her hand on my arm, but I stepped away.

"Is that what I am to you? Creative content?"

She shook her head furiously, her hand cutting through the air. When I continued to stare, she snapped her finger at me, telling me "No," but I was beyond rational thought.

"You used me for fucking research for a book?"

"Oh, Edward," the oily bastard said, "Don't belittle yourself. You are so much more than that. Bella wrote a stunning academic exposition on the timeless nature of eroticism, as brought to life for contemporary culture. As luck would have it, I had a photographer who was interested in similar topics, and I paired them together. The book is astounding. Her words are fresh. The photos are stark. In fact, her picture on the jacket is absolutely lovely. And it would have looked fucking great on people's coffee tables. But people don't want dissertations. They don't want college, they want coitus. Smart and sexy. Which is where you come in. You gave it heart, Edward. You made it a mystery. You made it a seduction.

"The galleys are in, but there's still time to change the ending, still time to insert you – pardon the pun - right where you belong." He took a second and grinned. "You are the frosting on the cake, the difference between a first printing of 10,000 and a second of 250,000, the difference between being an art book and a bestseller, the difference between the remainders rack and a Hollywood deal. I hope you can see my point."

He kept on talking. I looked at Bella. She looked at me, anxious and expectant. His words were menacing, but she looked less intimidated by him, than she was angry at my response.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," I said.

She frowned at me. I wanted to shake the shit out of her. I wanted to punch him in the mouth to make him shut up. I wanted to puke.

He kept going. "... I hope you can see the importance of this opportunity, Edward. How there has never been a moment like this. You will be the first. This will be one for the history books. The crown jewel of the holiday-selling season. As I see it, the only thing left to agree on is what you'll wear on Monday. It'll be your first interview and we don't want to leave these things to chance. He's bringing a photographer."

I closed my eyes for a second to take in what was happening, searching my mind for anything I could think of to make this go away. I had no words to express my rage, my disbelief, my disappointment.

"You lied to me," was the only thing I could think to say to her.

Her eyebrows arched dangerously at me, in assessment, eyes unreadable, lips pondering, considering something. I had no idea what her game was. She turned to him. He smiled as if he knew he'd won. She looked back at me, and all I could feel was the horror of having been trapped by my own fucking foolishness.

"So, what do you say, Bella?" he asked jovially and clapped his hands once. "Is it time to play with the big boys?"

The look on her face was hard. Determined. Resigned. She turned to me and bit her lip. She waited for a response, but I had none, no idea how my life had become this thing.

Bella took a deep breath, flipped us both off, then stormed away without waiting for either of our replies.

**A/N:** First I want to thank Twanza, whose relentless pushing me off of tall buildings eventually makes me fly, and then I want to thank Wonderwallthefirst, Dmsdms, EinfachMich and SweetDulci for pre-reading and saying "WTF?" but mostly we want to thank you for reading and letting us know what you think. We love what you think.

**Sources:** Marina Warner, _From the Beast to the Blonde: On Fairy Tales and Their Tellers_, Farrar, Strauss & Giroux, 1995; Gaston Bachelard, _The Poetics of Reverie: Childhood, Language, and the Cosmos_, Beacon Press, 1971


	15. 15

I was blocks away before I could bring myself to think about what had happened. Twenty-four hours ago I'd been prepared to deal with her life, to deal with a savage cruelty done to her that took away her voice, to deal with whatever had caused her to be stripping in that booth, to deal with her being a hooker if it came to that. Instead, I had to deal with the fucking fact that the trauma I expected her to be suffering was all in my mind, and worse, that I had been bested at my own game. Fucking undone by - the word was too awful to think as it floated in my mind...

_Fucking screwed by marketing._

I kept walking, kept my stride fast, head down. Being a masochistic, I pulled out my phone, intent on re-reading the posts from the blog, searching for some clue that would have told me this was coming, and decide how much shit I was going to have to eat in the very near future.

Bile rose up in the back of my throat as I selected the link, but I clicked anyway. I held my breath as it loaded, wondering what images would pop up. Maybe she'd already posted this morning; maybe last night had all been captured on camera and recorded for posterity. Maybe there were already comments critiquing my skills, or lack thereof.

_Page Not Found. _

I had that shit bookmarked, so I knew it was right, but I typed the address in manually anyway.

_Nothing. _

It was as if we'd never existed.

-o0o-

I hadn't followed Bella, knowing full well she would have had my balls if I had.

Aro left right after she did, but not before he winked at me and said, "She's a feisty one. See you on Monday."

"No, you won't."

"Oh, I think I will," he sang over his shoulder as he walked away toward the limo waiting for him at the curb.

I wondered what to do. The clear threat was, just as I'd worried when I had convinced myself I could be anonymous, that I would be exposed as a fucking pervert to the entire world, and that I, of all people, should have known better than to post color commentary on some faceless chick's website.

_Forbidden Fruit._ That should've been the first clue.

Two kids walked past me. One was absently bouncing a basketball in front of him, transferring the ball from left hand to right. They both looked at me when they passed and I suddenly got paranoid, like I was being watched, like everyone knew.

_"Hey look, there's that asshole who fell in love with a bot."_

A fucking book deal. It was so fucking perfect. Beyond anything I could have imagined if I'd written the story myself. I didn't know whether to be proud, pissed or jealous.

Or all of the above.

I pictured having to tell my father what I'd done. Or my mother. Tanya. I'd have to deal with work. All of my credibility down the drain. I wondered how much information Bella had shared, what the fuck she'd chronicled. Did they know how we'd met? Did she tell him about the night I went down on her after too many emails had wrecked my self-control? That must've been good for a laugh.

_Jesus Christ._

I walked aimlessly for blocks and found myself in front of her building without realizing where I was headed. It was like I was magnetized to her. A glutton for punishment.

She didn't answer the buzzer when I rang it. I wondered if I pressed all the buttons for all the apartments in her building if someone would buzz me in, and figured I'd still find myself sitting in the hall outside her door.

I felt like I wanted to punch something. I looked up at the building. The red brick was old, but the building was well taken care of. Next door was the same exact building, but the facing was painted white, next to that was another older building that looked like it had been restored recently. Over the front door, I read "Precinct 9." It made me happy that she lived next door to the NYPD.

I looked up at the fire escape, but breaking in through her bedroom window seemed unlikely to win her favor, if I didn't get arrested in the process. I didn't want to leave her a phone message, because I didn't know what to say. I didn't want to send her a text, because it would get too manic.

Email gave me more space to write, and implied that I wasn't about to kick the trashcans that were chained to the fence outside her building. Oddly enough, once I had the template up, I didn't have much to say. I just wanted to see if she was okay.

* * *

**To:** Isabella Swan

**From:** Edward Cullen

**Re:** Hey

We need to talk.

* * *

She didn't respond, which I expected. As the minutes passed, her silence ate at me. I waited for her to acknowledge me, while my brain tried and failed to race ahead to the next "to do." Staring at the screen, it felt like I was stuck in this twilight zone – no time passing, no motion, a gigantic vacuum of nothing and no one but me. I needed her response to move to my next thought. It was like I was locked in this moment, no forward, no back. It made me fucking wild, like I was a caged animal.

I had to calm down and sat on her stoop. The cement was cold against my ass, and I stared at the phone waiting for it to blink. I told myself that I would keep it together when she finally answered_,_ not be excitable.

Until I had the facts I would be neutral._"I am Switzerland,_" I told myself. I would be objective, non-biased. I replayed the scene in the park. I saw her anxiety. I saw that he clearly thought he had the upper hand and I knew there was more to this than I understood. I took a deep breath. I would remain open-minded.

_Serenity now_.

But, of course when she did finally fucking respond, I flipped out.

**11:15 AM**

TXT B: I know we need to talk

but right now I need to think

TXT E: While you're thinking I'm

fucking flipping out.

**11:16 AM**

TXT B: Get over yourself.

I read her words and heard the receiver slam as if we were talking on the phone. She was pissed. Why I thought it was incredibly hot that she was pissed was a mystery, and yet, I did – which kinda calmed me down.

_Only I could be calmed down by being wound up._

A car alarm went off up the block. Some guy stuck his head out of the building across the way pointed his remote and disabled it with a "weet weet."

**11:20 AM**

TXT B: Where are you?

TXT E: I'm here. Sitting on your stoop.

TXT B: Go away.

TXT E: Unfuckinglikely

TXT B: I'm not inviting you up.

TXT E: Fine. I'll sit here and wait.

TXT B: Fine.

TXT E: Fine.

How could I be such an asshole? It was really unfair that it came so easily to me. After a few minutes of her silence, I couldn't take it.

**11:26 AM**

TXT E: Did you know all along that it was me posting on your blog?

TXT B: It was my fantasy that it was you.

I pretended it could be.

**11:27 AM**

Eventually suspected.

Doesn't matter.

TXT E: It does matter.

It matters to me.

**11:28 AM**

So you and I had one thing, and you had this other thing with the guy on the blog, the other me.

Do you have other things with other guys?

The pause in her response made me very nervous, and her answer just about killed me.

**11:30 AM**

TXT B: What do you mean, other things?

TXT E: Did you talk offline with other guys?

TXT B: I was researching a book, Edward. I've had conversations with a lot of people while writing it.

I was off the stairs and on the sidewalk in an instant. This was not happening. It didn't matter. I was done. I wanted to vomit and kill something, and started walking again before I did. The phone was a willing projectile in my fist and I almost threw the fucking thing across the street. I headed up toward the avenue, my internal monologue streaming like I was still talking to her.

_This is fucked up, Bella._  
_How many guys have you talked to like this?_  
_Ten? A hundred? One?_  
There was no number that was not unsatisfying.  
_I'm not seeing you._  
_I am never seeing you again._

I got to the corner and stood outside an Argentinean restaurant that had seen better days. I wanted to drive my fist through the stupid fucking stucco on the outside. Time passed. I watched cabs go past. I watched the traffic light. The walk sign changed from "walk" to "don't walk" four times. I couldn't move. Couples walked past on their way to brunch. I wanted to knock them into the street.  
I looked back toward Bella's building, but I couldn't suffer the humiliation of trying to see her. I looked at her last text.

_I've had conversations with a lot of people while writing it__.__  
_  
My anger surged, which made me focus. Hard. I thought about what I needed to do, and it seemed logical to go to my office and make sure there was nothing on the server to incriminate me. I needed to erase every one of my fucking files that wasn't client-related and grabbed a cab rather than deal with Emmett's car.

_Fuck it. Fuck all of it._

-o0o-

For everything that had happened since I'd last been here, my desk was exactly as I'd left it - which was comforting in a disturbing way.

I erased the history of my web searches, went through my files, organizing my shit like I was planning my own funeral. I hacked into the server to fuck with the back-up files. I figured it was as good as it was going to get until it occurred to me to worry about anything I'd ever sent to the copier and wondered how far back that log went.

Just as I stood to go unplug Juliet and reboot the system, I heard Yorkie say, "Bring it in here, Alice. I have to do a couple of things and then we'll go to the park."

"You're a liar because you always say that and it always takes a really, really, really long time."

_Ball Buster Jr._

I sat back down quick, hoping to remain inconspicuous, and saw the top of the little kid's head speed by my cube. I watched as she rode her tiny red tricycle out onto the racetrack like it was fucking Le Mans.

Yorkie looked harried and tired, but unsurprised to see me. "You in too, huh?" he asked.

"Yup."

"Well, you know what they say, 'If you don't come in on Saturday, don't bother coming in on Sunday."

"Funny."

"I have quarterly revenue reports due to Shelly."

"Nice."

"Your win helped a lot. Good work." He sounded almost genuine, but I really wasn't in the mood.

"No problem."

"Well, I'll let you get to it," he said in resignation, and slunk back into his deluxe cube.

Meanwhile, the demon child rang the bell on her bike every time she went past me, just to piss me off. She didn't make eye contact. She didn't slow down. She just rang the freaking bell like she was clocking laps at my desk. The metallic sound of it ground into my brain. On her hundredth go round, Yorkie walked over to my desk looking sheepish.

"Listen, I need a favor. I have to go upstairs and take Shelly through the numbers. I didn't realize she was in the building, but she just called with questions and now that she knows I'm here I can't avoid her. Can you keep an eye on Alice for ten minutes? She'll be fine. She won't even know I'm gone. Once she's on that thing she'll stay on it for hours."

I looked at the kid, who was on the far curve of the loop, pedaling furiously. I looked at him and snorted. It was just too fucking perfect, but the poor bastard seemed so beaten up I didn't have the heart to say what I wanted to, and nodded.

"Sure."

-o0o-

The minute the elevator doors closed behind him, she was standing at my desk.

"I'm hungry."

I showed her the ketchup and soy sauce packets in my drawer. She wrinkled her nose at them, but took a few plastic knives and spoons I kept there just in case. We went through Emmett's drawer and found a pack of orange TicTacs, which she pocketed but didn't eat. We walked to the kitchen to see what remained from this week's meetings and other people's lunches.

Stale sesame bagel.

"Seeds are yucky."

_Rejected. _

Soggy tuna wrap.

"No thank you."

_Rejected._

Yogurt that said "Property of Angela. DO NOT EAT."

"I only like Key Lime."

_Figures. Rejected._

Something unidentifiable wrapped in tinfoil.

I rejected it for her.

And a few hundred tiny dairy creamers that were well into their half-life.

She shook her head, but reached her hand out and I dropped a few into her palm anyway. Her hands were so tiny, like really tiny, impossibly tiny. When he clenched her fists they looked like walnuts. I was shocked at how little she was.

I guided her over to the vending machine. I put the money in and she immediately started pushing buttons, but I managed to get her a bottle of water and a bag of trail mix.

No sooner were we back at my desk than she spilled her drink.

She also didn't like the trail mix. I wondered if anybody liked trail mix.

And then she said, "I'm bored."

"Join the club."

"What club?"

"Never mind."

"Draw me a picture," she said.

I drew a house.

She frowned. "That is a bad drawing."

I drew her a picture of a car in profile.

"That's a boy drawing."

"That's because I am a boy."

"No, you're a man."

I nodded, though I wondered.

"Where are the head lights?" she asked.

I drew a few lines shooting out from the front of the car like high beams.

"Make a flower on the side."

I drew a flower on the driver's side door.

"Make the wheels bigger wheels."

I drew monster truck tires.

"Not that big," she giggled.

I found myself filled with empathy for Emmett and repeated the words I'd heard him say to Yorkie a hundred times. "Your direction was unclear."

We compromised. I got to keep the monster truck tires, but agreed to put eyelashes on the headlights and a few more flowers on the side.

Alice nodded with approval. "I want to color. Do you have crayons?"

I went back over to Emmett's desk, but the fucker was almost completely digital. Except for a few neon highlighters, he had nothing. I showed Alice the yellow one. "Can you work with this?"

Improbably, she nodded, so I took her to the supply closet and let her pick out a few more. She also picked up a hole puncher, a calculator, a bottle of correction fluid and an entire package of colored sticker dots we used for "brainstorming."

I hated that word. I hated even thinking that word. Even when I did think the word it had quotes around it. It was the single most useless and frustrating activity I had ever encountered.

Back at my desk she set to work. Her focus was fucking intense. When she finished with the car she held it out for me and said, "See?"

After a little while she decided she wanted potato chips and when I came back from procuring them, she was painting her nails and most of the rest of her fingers with Wite-Out. There were streaks of it across the seat of my chair, which she had used as a table. I sat on the ground next to her.

She wiggled her fingers. "I have a manicure. See?"

Her nails were seriously tiny.

"Nice."

She went back to coloring with the highlighters, seeming quite content. Whenever she finished something she said, "See?" and I nodded. All she wanted was for me to nod my head in acknowledgment.

_I see you._

As she worked she sang a little song that had notes and words but no melody I could make out. It was nice.

_Daddy and mommy_  
_Mommy mommy mommy_  
_Forks and spoons and dots_  
_sticking and stickering_  
_hum hum hum_

Which made me think of Bella singing.

I wondered if Alice would be as snarky if she were silent. Would she suddenly seem well behaved, maybe slightly odd? Would her spirit and tiny, fierce sarcasm sit locked up inside, or escape through neon colors on paper? She'd probably play the drums. I thought of all the changes a person would need to make if they suddenly woke up and had to find a ways to express themselves without sound.

"You're a natural," Yorkie said, and clapped me on the shoulder.

I felt as annoyed as Alice looked when he led her away. She peered back over her shoulder at me. "Will you be here next Saturday, Mr. Cullen?"

"Most likely," I said, anything but sure.

**-o0o-**

It had turned into a normal day at the office after all, and it wasn't much later than it normally was when I'd grab lunch. I realized I was starving. On autopilot I walked to food the same way I always did - through the plaza, up to the corner and right.

As I turned on to the avenue, my phone buzzed.

**2:42 PM**

TXT B: You're not owning your part in this

TXT E: What are you talking about?

TXT B: You wrote on a fucking public domain

TXT E: I wasn't doing this to whet other people's fucking prurient interests

**2:43 PM**

TXT B: Just your own?

It was the truth and not the truth. I was doing it for me, but not just for me. I was doing this for us. I thought about all of the likes and the reblogs and the comments, which had alarmed me at first, now I just felt dirty.

I had to move, and started to walk as I typed.

**2:44 PM**

TXT E: I didn't write to you so some scumbag could jerk off to it.

TXT B: No. Just so you could jerk off to it

TXT E: This whole thing is so fucked up.

I don't know what to think

TXT B: You should read my book

I have a lot of thoughts on the subject

TXT E: You should have been forthcoming before now.

**2:45 PM**

TXT B: When?

I'm curious

TXT E: How about when we had dinner the other night?

Hi Edward, I'm a writer.

I have a book in the works.

**2:46 PM**

Pretty good first date material, I think.

Impressive.

TXT B: Fuck you.

TXT E: Fuck me. Exactly.

My first thought was to write something filthy about how she had fucked me, not figuratively but literally. I thought about last night. How could the crazy intensity and rightness of what we'd done to each other have wound up like this? I had wanted to ask her questions about where she was from, where she'd gone to school, how she'd gotten messed up in this shit - but I was more pissed than curious and kept my offense going.

**2:50 PM**

TXT E: Your fucking blog should have had a disclaimer

indicating that participation was subject to copyright or something

That participation was implied consent for publication.

I don't know what the fuck I'm talking about.

How many other people do you have to come clean with?

TXT B: When was I supposed to tell

the guy I only saw for five minutes

whenever he felt like it - that I was writing a book

in which my attraction to him made me feel bare in ways that

**2:51 PM**

taking off my clothes never did?

Especially since I didn't know his name or anything about him

And then, when he magically appeared –

and as far as I knew he knew nothing about the blog,

which was only research anyway –

what was I supposed to say?

She was on a fucking roll. I couldn't argue with her logic, and I couldn't get a word in edgewise.

TXT E: Bella

TXT B: and when I met him he was at a fucking church function with his fucking wife

TXT E: BELLA

TXT B: How's that for fucking discretion?

TXT E: That's a

TXT B: Should I have said it on the blog? To someone I imagined was the man I ached to be with? To someone that I hoped might be you?

And what if I got it wrong? What then?

Should I have signed it to you from the alter?

I tried to interrupt, but she wasn't having any of that shit.

**2:52 PM**

TXT E: Could you

TXT B: Could I what? Said it to you in an email? Which you should I have come clean to?

Because I've only ever had the whole, real you for one night.

Last night.

TXT E: No, wait. I don't

2:53 PM

TXT B: And I left you smiling in your sleep while I went to try to save my stupid fucking book and keep this whole fucking thing from wrecking everything.

When she went quiet, I didn't know what to say. I wrote and erased words that made no sense, my thumbs typing words out of habit, more than intent. I stared at the screen, feeling dejected and rotten. I thought of what to say.

**2:54 PM**

TXT E: I'm sorry

I didn't think it would fix anything, but it was true, so I sent it anyway. In response I got more shit.

**2:55 PM**

TXT B: You know what sucks?

TXT E: Everything?

TXT B: What sucks is that you seem far more distressed that I'm writing than you are by the fact that I was stripping.

TXT E: I don't think so. I'm fairly sure my distress is based on the fact that my personal shit is about to be broadcast on the evening news.

TXT B: You're an asshole.

**-o0o-**

Was I surprised when I found myself standing in front of the place where I'd first met Bella? Not really, inasmuch as everything that happened to me was a big fucking surprise. I stood at the front window and looked at the rows of DVDs, remembering why I'd gone in the first time, remembering the internal debate I'd had with myself while standing on this exact spot on the sidewalk while I convinced myself I could walk in, like it was no big deal, that I wasn't a pervert for looking.

Despite the fact that I'd been through that door more times than I could count, without having the clear purpose of seeing Bella, I felt exactly as I had the first time. Like a fucking pervert.

Sex was on the other side of that door. Secrets. Titillation. Fantasy. Release. Things relegated to dark booths and nondescript paper bags.

I went in. Forced myself to act normal, like it was no big fucking deal. The store was still stocked with every manner of sex toy, same as last time, still just as mysterious. I still had no clue about most of it, but decided it was creepier for me to walk around looking at shit, than to actually buy something.

The first thing I grabbed was a box of condoms. I wandered through the shop, deliberately forcing myself to look at the merchandise, reading the instructions. I practically pulled up _Consumer Reports_ to check out the safety ratings of cock rings, but decided I'd buy a blue dildo instead. I snagged a container of massage oil, and two magazines, then a magic wand.

When I brought everything up to the counter, the guy didn't even crack a smile. It was the same as being in the checkout at the grocery store.

_Pizza. Light bulbs. Printer paper._

It was ridiculous.

I wondered if by some miracle, Bella and I were able to move past this, would the place we met be a dirty little secret, or would it eventually become something we could laugh about, mention in casual conversation. Maybe this would be something that our grand kids would think of as bad ass.

What was more ridiculous was that I was thinking about having grand kids with Bella.

_No, _what was most ridiculous was that, as implausible as it seemed, this was all about to be front page news.

While the guy rang me up, my mind was spinning.

What was the big fucking deal? Where did shame enter into this equation? Was someone perverse because they wanted to get off? It was fucking biology. Or was perversion defined by the thing that got you off? I figured I wouldn't even get a bag. I'd just walk back to the apartment carrying all this shit in my arms. Let everyone see.

I held a little press conference in my head.

_I am Edward Cullen._

_I am a pussy. _

_I think about sex constantly._

_My job is to figure out people's motivations and get them to do things they wouldn't otherwise._

_Sex has always been currency._

_My girlfriend is a stripper._

_I don't really know her all that well, but I think she's a genius._

_Did you know she's writing a book about sex?_

_I'm in it._

_Which is just fucking perfect._

I hadn't realized I'd assigned a sound to Bella's voice, but in that instant I heard her loud and clear: _"Get over yourself."_

I stepped back out onto the street, the bells on the door ringing my exit, carrying a white plastic bag with "I Love NY" emblazoned on the side. I didn't have any idea what I was going to do with my new toys, but I had them. Heading back to Emmett's I didn't exactly feel triumphant, but I wasn't quite as keyed up as I had been for most of the day.

-o0o-

I grabbed a hot dog from a cart, breaking my own rule, and by the time I finished I was about ten blocks away from Emmett's, but it would only take me about fifteen minutes to get to Bella's. I really wanted to see if she was okay.

**3:49 PM**

TXT E: Can we start at the beginning?

What is your book about?

TXT B: A lot of things.

TXT E: Such as?

She didn't respond, and she didn't respond, and she didn't respond. It felt like days. I needed more detail, but she was still pissed. I wondered if we should have this conversation via text, sitting next to each other in her living room. I didn't think she'd go for it, but I decided to head crosstown anyway.

**3:53 PM**

TXT B: It's an exploration about the struggle to express one's

sexuality without being made a victim,

about how young

women have no voice and

that when they are finally able to reveal their appetites,

they are looked upon as wicked.

TXT E: Okay.

**3:54 PM**

TXT B: But now Aro has it in his head that it's a love story.

I questioned my own sanity, because my first instinct was to ask her if it _is_ a love story.

TXT E: Okay, maybe you should start from the VERY beginning.

TXT E: Is the book about the booth?

TXT B: The book was supposed to be about the difficulties of finding sexual expression when dealing with physical barriers to communication. It's about a lot of places, not just the booth.

TXT E: What's with the blog?

**3:55 PM**

TXT B: It was research, a way for me to test certain hypotheses.

Leave it to me to find the only girl in the western hemisphere that was applying the fucking scientific method to sex.

That thought made me grin, the idea of her trying to figure out the solution for what combination of pictures might make a guy crazy, or what words would get her the best response. As far as that goes, I figured I was a fucking fantastic lab rat. I remembered how she had written in response to my fantasy, how she wrote words that made mine come to life.

I felt her gathering her thoughts and forced myself to wait.

**4:00 PM**

TXT B: It was supposed to be about sexual power

but it changed.

TXT E: And what is it about now?

TXT B Instead it's became about how everything unraveled when you find someone who strips you of pretense with their words.

TXT E: This is what you do to me.

**4:01 PM**

Would you

I'd rather

I'm outside.

Bella.

Let me in.

There was a long pause. It was torture to wait, and my odds were growing longer and longer with every second that passed. I need to see her. Needed to touch her, to start again. But there was one thing I had to know.

**4:02 PM**

TXT E: Tell me I'm not just some jerk off that you got

to talk dirty to you so that you could sell a book

TXT B: Tell me I'm not just some girl you like to see naked

and who won't bother you by talking too much

TXT E: I do like to see you naked

But I love what you have to say.

I want to read your book.

Let me read it.

Please.

I heard a window push open and looked up just in time to see a white thing come flying out and slam down on the steps next to me. I looked back up in time to hear the window slam closed. My phone blinked red.

**4:03 PM**

TXT B: There it is.

I picked up the manuscript, stunned to actually have it in my hands. The pages were held together with a huge black binder clip at the corner. The title, her name. It was real. _Forbidden Fruit: The Silent Culture of Desire, _by Isabella Swan.

The bright red candy apple on the front, identical to the one from the blog, was the perfect symbol of my temptation. I thought of her lips and the way she tasted.

The blurb on the back was the same as her blog too.

_Forbidden Fruit: Any object of desire whose appeal is a direct result of the knowledge that it cannot or should not be obtained or something that someone may want but is forbidden to have. I live in a silent culture of desire._

The cover design was simple, minimal. The rest was white. The lettering was bold, graphic, but the secondary text featured a handwriting font, that warmed up the starkness a little. I wasn't sure whether I loved it, the kerning seemed off, but it was pretty tight. I wondered what Emmett would think.

I flipped it open to the middle, intending to thumb through and get a feel, trying not to look at the shape of the paragraphs to judge, without reading, whether it was well-written. I tried to keep dispassionate, professional as I scanned a few pages, but stopped dead when I was confronted with a photo of Bella's torso and couldn't turn the page. It was almost as if she'd been carved from marble. The bones of her hips and ribs were prominent, her beautiful knee was bent forward and just the curve of her breast was showing. I tilted my head sideways and traced her curves with my finger. I thought of last night, and how badly I'd missed her this morning. My dick grew tight at the sight of her and the memory of what it felt like to hold her in my arms.

Some guy walked by talking loudly on his cell phone and I turned so he couldn't see what I was reading. I brought my shopping bag full of toys around to my side, closer to the building. All of a sudden the white plastic felt very transparent. I flipped to another photo of Bella dressed in black feathers and peering around the corner of a door frame. She looked like she was at a Halloween party, and that was all I would allow myself to imagine.

A group of people walked past and I cradled the pages to my chest. While this wasn't exactly like looking at dirty pictures, I suddenly felt exposed, as though the people walking by were watching me, and worse, like they were peeking over my shoulder to get a glimpse.

My phone rang and I jumped.

"Hello?"

"Everything okay?"

It was my brother.

"How's Sorta? You two good?"

That was an excellent question.

"Yep. Great."

"You sure?"

"Yep.

"You sure sure?"

"Everything is fucking fantastic, Jasper. Stop asking."

"That bad?"

"Maybe."

"Well, the reason I'm calling is to let you know that we're on the train. Emmett needs his keys."

"You're coming too?"

"Looks like."

"What for?"

"I wanted to make sure you're okay."

"Jasper."

"Save it. I'll meet you at his place."

I considered getting the car out of the garage, but knew the walk would only take ten minutes and I wanted a reason to have to come back, in case I needed an excuse.

-o0o-

When I got to Emmett's, Rose was nowhere to be seen, but the note from Lauren on the refrigerator said it all: "You owe me."

I pried my contacts out of my eyes and exchanged them for my reading glasses before I grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled onto the sofa with the manuscript in my hands.

Rose jumped on my lap and started kneading my thighs, first one paw and then the other. She did this rhythmic pushing thing while also opening and closing her fingers or toes, or whatever they were. It began to feel entirely too intimate and I shoved her off.

She jumped back up, and proceeded to make herself comfortable next to me, rubbing her head down against the cushion. I felt incapable of giving her the attention she needed and refused to act as Emmett's stand-in.

"This is fucking awkward, Rose." I put her back on the floor. "Stay down," I said, pointing at the floor. "Down."

She looked up at me with a question in her big blue eyes. She seemed sad.

Oddly, I knew just how she felt.

All I could think of was Bella. I could only imagine how cooped up Rose felt, how much she missed her boy. I wondered if she felt betrayed when he hadn't come home, and sent someone else in his place. I felt a weird fucking camaraderie with her and decided to let her sit wherever the fuck she wanted.

I patted the cushion next to me and she hopped up and curled against my thigh as I started to read.

_**Chapter 1. Once upon a time...**_

_Not all little girls grow up to be princesses._

_Some grow up to be monsters._

_Monsters get to chase. Monsters get to fight. Monsters get to bite._

_They get to want out loud, even if, in the end, the happily ever after requires that the monster is vanquished. The satisfaction of having been able to verbalize what they most desire in the world, express their ravenous appetite with the bearing of their fangs, the willingness to take and consume, it's so honest - heart on the sleeve stuff. Humble in a way._

_Hardly monstrous at all._

_I wanted to be a monster when I was little. Dressed as a fairy princess one Halloween night, I was sent to my room for wielding my wand as a weapon. I tore my taffeta skirt racing after a boy dressed as a robot. Even though his cardboard costume was cumbersome, I still had to use my pillowcase full of candy to take him down._

_You know who told on me? Who turned me in for my transgression? Not my beloved prince, but the other girls. I had gone rogue. Behaved beyond the bounds of acceptable five-year old femininity, openly pursued my prey, hadn't stood silently by waiting for a boy to notice me, pick me. I went after the one I wanted._

_There was hell to pay afterwards, when my fellow princesses told on me, but I got my kiss._

•

•

•

_I like words. Get used to it._

_Here's what Wikipedia says about monsters._

_(I like Wiki. Get used to that too. And don't get me going on the underrepresentation of female contributors to Wikipedia and the fact that even the most intelligent and credentialed women don't feel qualified to speak up.)_

A monster is any fictional creature, usually found in legends or horror fiction that is somewhat hideous and may produce physical harm or mental fear by either its appearance or its actions. The word "monster" derives from Latin _monstrum_, an aberrant1 occurrence, usually biological, that was taken as a sign that something was wrong within the natural order.

_The oldest and most human of emotions is not love, as popular culture would have you believe. It's fear. Fear tells you that the there's a bad moon on the rise, that by the pricking of your thumbs something wicked this way comes, _

_Fear keeps you alive._

_Sometimes you get what you wish for. _

_I am a monster and have been for fifteen years. It's not a bad gig if you can figure out a way to make it pay._

_I have been a model, a dancer, a teacher, an interpreter, and apparently now a writer. Does it surprise you that none of this is entirely satisfying?_

_Remember?_

_Monster? Me?_

_I don't hunger for food. I salivate for something I can't describe, for something unknown. Maybe I am a lucky monster because I have hope, am optimistic enough to believe that I will find the thing that will quench my thirst, even though I can't categorize the taste._

_Is it salty? Sweet? Tart? Bitter? I guess I'll know it when I taste it._

_That's the only use left of my tongue, by the way. Taste._

_The fricatives, the glottal stops, the diphthongs, all pretty words, (pretty to me) but meaningless. I can parse a sentence with the best of them, have an ear for poetry, and an eye for parallel structure, but I have no sound._

_What I do have is a nice face, a decent pair of tits, and a small waist that accentuates the fact that my ass isn't all it could be, but I work it. Which makes me irresistible to you._

_But that's your hunger, not mine._

_This book is about me and my search for that which might quench my own thirst._

After I read the first chapter, I read the last chapter, and after that I read the entire book

It was high-brow, it was low-brow. She wasn't afraid to be dirty or smart. The pictures were stunning and she was in most of them. I recognized the curve of her hip in silhouette on one page, her bare shoulder on another, the constellation of freckles I'd claimed for my own taunting me while her words pulled me in deeper. She flirts with the reader; at the same time her clear mastery of the topic showed she didn't need to.

And my name wasn't in it anywhere.

Except I felt us on every page.

I opened a beer and contemplated what to say. Rose looked up at me and yawned while I rubbed her head. I read the end of the epilogue again, and the clear message she was sending.

_... this book is ending up the opposite of what it started out to be, less a dissertation than a dispatch – a love letter written without assurance that it will get where it needs to go._

_My hunger wound up not about consumption at all. It was about being seen, in spite of all the different masks I wear. The girl inside the beast._

_This bothers me a lot. After all the research, the manipulation of the variables, all it takes is one unexpected turn of phrase, or a shared moment to recognize that there is something more. I hoped for empirical evidence, and it all turned prima facie toward me._

_Love at first sight is as much about truly being seen as it about love, after all. _

_So, do I believe in love at first sight?_

_I didn't, but now I do._

_What I learned was how, in spite of our newfangled technology, that as much as you try to know, love comes down to magic and that words are spellbinding to me. _

I wanted to text her and tell her that her dispatch had reached its target, but I didn't want to text her. I wanted to see her.

A knock at the door broke me from my thoughts. I carried Rose with me to answer it. Not surprisingly, when I opened the door, Emmett ignored me except for a slightly furrowed brow as he lifted Rose from my arms. He moved past me into the apartment, the quiet whispers of their reunion trailing away.

My brother walked in next, his face a mask of curiosity and exhaustion.

"You look like you're about to do something stupid," he said.

I didn't have a plan yet, but I had a sneaking suspicion that he was right.

* * *

A/N: Be monstrous. It's more fun.

Love to Wonder, Dulci, Hoochie and Einfach, and you, for reading and being amazing.


	16. 16

I heard Bella's voice like a siren's call.

_...a love letter written without assurance that it will get where it needs to go._

Every fiber of my being screamed at me to walk out the door. The need to get to her was more important than dicking around with my brother and Emmett, but too many years of living in my mother's house required me to play host, even if only for a moment.

"Welcome to The Big Apple," I said to my brother.

"Cut the crap," he responded.

Before I could say anything else, Emmett came storming back into the room, carrying Rose and yelling. "What the hell did you do to her? She's all contrite and shit."

Jasper looked at me and frowned.

"I didn't do anything to her!" I yelled back. "What the fuck?"

He buried his nose in her fur. She simply sat there and closed her eyes, suffering his attentions without her usual joy in combat. He looked at me like I was the biggest dick in the world then headed toward the kitchen, but not before mumbling, "I can't believe you broke my fucking cat."

"I didn't break your cat!" I called after him.

The look on my brother's face was priceless. "Tell me this is a joke."

"No joke."

"Oh, shit," he said, and smirked. My brother was my opposite in every way. Whereas I saw everything that was wrong and laughed mostly in exasperation, he thought everything was a fucking riot, pausing only long enough to process the shit for it to be funny again.

He really was a sweetheart. I really was an asshole.

"Seriously, Edward. What's with the cat?" he asked.

"That's not a cat, that's his girlfriend," I answered.

He shook his head and looked at me. "On the subject of girlfriends, what's up with Bella?

"She wrote a book."

"What's it about?"

"It's about –" I couldn't think of the words to describe it.

He gave me an encouraging look.

"It's like creative non-fiction." I hesitated, before adding, "And she's naked."

"In the book?"

I nodded.

"And this is the girl toward whom you do or do not have honorable intentions?" It was as much a statement as it was an inquiry. In the end it was a fact. I had intentions. I nodded some more.

"So, what's the big deal? Are _you_ naked in the book?"

"No."

He jerked his chin at the rolled up manuscript I had in my hand. "That it? Lemme see." He reached for it, but I pulled back, still feeling the need to protect Bella from prying eyes, even though that was clearly the exact opposite of what she was going for. He grabbed for it again. I shifted right, but he feinted left and snagged it out of my grip. The look on my face must not have been good because he gave it right back.

"Lighten up, Frances," he grumbled.

"Yeah, Whatever. Want a beer?"

"Love one, Prudence."

I ignored him and risked intruding on the reunion in the kitchen long enough to grab a few long necks out of the fridge. When I handed him one he said, "Thanks, Chastity."

"Fuck off, I get your point," I said and sat on the couch. All I wanted to do was run.

He sat right next to me. Though it must have been obvious from my tone that I was uncomfortable with the discussion, Jasper pressed with his usual enthusiasm.

"C'mon, let me look, Edward. How bad can it be? It's not like I've never seen boobs before," he said, just as Emmett walked back into the room.

"Who's never seen boobs before?" Emmett asked, looking a little happier. Rose seemed slightly mollified too, which meant that she was looking like her ornery self again. She rolled in his arms and showed him her stomach, which he began rubbing at an alarming rate.

_The girl inside the beast.__  
_

Bella's words became my narrative, explaining the circumstances of my life, anchoring happenstance with meaning.

Jasper said, "Jesus Fucking Christ. This is like porn."

"What are you looking at?" said Emmett and reached for Bella's book. I pulled it out of his reach.

"Not that." Jasper laughed. "You and your cat."

I snorted too, but with growing horror, watched in slow motion as Rose wriggled in Emmett's arms and knocked the white plastic bag I'd placed on top of the television set to the floor. Before I could say reach for it, Emmett picked it up and peeked inside, then turned to me with a strange look on his face.

"Duardo. Dude."

I looked at my brother, who was shaking his head bemusedly at both Emmett and me like he was the fucking Dalai Lama, all knowing and shit.

My cheeks flood with shame. Gone was the man who'd been willing to walk down the avenue gleefully waving dildos and vibrators. I missed that guy. Bella deserved that guy.

Her calm voice was like a wind in the room.

_Fear keeps you alive. _

Jasper changed the subject and focused on me. "I've come all the way here to make sure you're okay, and since I owe some kind of report back to your mother and father so that they don't come down themselves to have you committed, would you kindly tell me what the _fuck_ is going on?" He no longer looked amused, so I just came out with it.

"Bella's publisher decided he would get some advance notice for the book by leaking her blog to the press and since I'm the asshole that wrote to her, and then, for all intents and purposes stalked her, he thinks I should attend the interview that he's got set up with this magazine on Monday."

"Cool," said Jasper.

"No. Definitely _not_ cool," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because how would you like it if the entire world knew you wanted to have angry sex with a stranger?"

"How strange?"

I ignored him. "I wrote some stuff and I didn't think - well – I just - whatever. And now it's going to come out. I'm going to have to deal with work, with Mom and Dad – "

"Let me just stop you right there," said my brother. "You are aware of the fact that Mom will love this, right?"

"Tanya?"

"Screw her. She never could take a joke, plus it'll give her something else to be morally superior about."

"Work?" I looked at Emmett for confirmation.

"Duardo, half the people at work are on eHarmony at any given moment. I mean, c'mon, it's not like the interview is with the _Wall Street Journal _or _The Financial Times_ is it?" He looked serious for a second and said, "It isn't, is it?"

"No. More like _Vanity Fair._"

Emmett looked at me like I was insane. "What the fuck is your problem? Why so shy all of a sudden?"

Jasper interrupted. "Why do you always assume the absolute worst case scenario? Maybe, if you're lucky you'll be the talk of the Golf Club for a weekend. Who gives a shit? It'll give The Dr. and Pete something other than their abysmal handicaps to discuss. The two of them will probably dig it more than The Mrs."

I sighed, which was clearly an invitation for my brother to continue his lecture. "I mean seriously. This is Riley's stock in trade. Maybe he'll call you to ask for details." He waggled his eyebrows at me, but when I frowned he got thoughtful. "Dad will be so fucking proud he'll probably hand out cigars."

"I'd like to say this makes me feel better, but – "

Jasper cut me off and turned to Emmett. "Is there a chance he'll get fired?" he asked excitedly.

My mantra played through my head. _Please fire me._

Emmett looked at Jasper and then at me. "You did this during off hours?"

"For the most part."

"Squander company resources?"

"Time."

"You spend ninety hours a week in the office, so I think they owe you a little leeway there, though you probably broke every rule in the employee handbook on the use of social media. On the other hand you're a creative, which means you're inherently deviant. This won't be news to anyone."

I shrugged.

"This isn't the police blotter. It's an interview in a magazine," Emmett said." If I was in marketing I might even hazard a guess that this could be considered a good thing."

"Yeah, I guess."

"_Yeah, you guess? _You fucking hate your job, Duardo. The best thing that could possibly happen to you would be that you would get fired. As a matter of fact, if I was your boss, I would fire you myself just to put you out of your misery."

_Sometimes you get what you wish for._

Maybe, after all, it really was that easy. The difficult thing was believing in the impossible and moving forward based purely on a hunch that I'd stumbled upon a wonderland in the most fucking bizarre of ways.

I didn't want to be fired, what I really wanted to do was quit. In grand fashion. Just thinking about going back into the office made me feel like there was a noose around my neck, but what was more scary than going into the office on Monday was not going into the office on Monday. What the fuck would I do with myself? That was the fucking beast of a question.

Jasper interrupted just as I started to imagine writing my letter of resignation and asked, "What's so great about what you've got going on now? What do you have to lose, Edward? Your moral integrity?" He laughed at his own joke.

"A paycheck?"

"That's a cop out, and you know it. There's a beautiful, talented girl out there who, for some inexplicable reason, is really into you. So you wrote some shit. You're a writer. Pretend it was fiction, but don't let this chance pass you by because you're worried what someone's going to think. You wrote it. They read it. Everyone's implicated. Fuck 'em. Every opportunity has a time limit. As a farmer, I can tell you this with a certain amount of authority."

I didn't want to spin it or discount it as fiction. Despite everything that had happened, I meant every word. I remembered the pain when I realized she'd taken the blog down, how it felt like I'd been erased, deleted. I had written fantasy and it had turned into reality. She brought me to life, and as much as it fucked with me to have an audience, turning it back into make-believe again would feel like death.

_You're not owning your part in this,_ she'd said this afternoon.

_Pwn it._I thought to myself and laughed.

When I stood to excuse myself, my brother said "Good luck, Romeo."

I nodded and glanced at Emmett, holding his cat and my afternoon's purchases. "You can keep those," I said and headed for the door. I was leaving Emmett holding the bag, literally and figuratively, but he looked almost proud as I walked out the door.

**-o0o-**

Standing in front of her building for the third time in one day, I called her name up at her apartment window, which was still cracked open to let out the heat.

"Bella!"

No answer.

Then, because I was fucking sick and tired of sneaking around, I yelled, "BELLA!" in my first attempt effort to live my life out loud.

A voice from behind me yelled back, "She went to the grocery!"

I turned and saw an old woman hanging out of a window in the building across the street. She was leaning on a pillow and clearly there for the long haul.

"When did she go?"

"Ten minutes. She'll be back soon."

"Thanks," I yelled up and sat on Bella's steps.

A policeman walked by, and gave me a nod. I nodded back. "Evening," he said, and continued up the block. After a few more minutes, three round, pink girls came out of the building, pudgy and playful. When they saw me, they turned toward each other, whispering and laughing. The woman from across the street yelled out, "Let him be, _muchachas!_ _Él es el novio de Isabella_." I waved up at her and she waved back. The girls snorted and giggled some more, but kept moving, wiggling and shoving each other as they walked.

Over the next fifteen minutes, a limo pulled to the curb in front of a building up the street and a woman in a blue gown got in, a guy with really tall boots pranced up the block, smoking and talking to himself. When he tried to make eye contact with me I focused hard on the garbage cans and noticed a cracked teapot. When a mouse crawled out from behind it, pulling a torn piece of shiny silver foil, I started to imagine someone was just fucking with me. It was unreal. Having broken into her life, this strange little neighborhood was like a magical village. This stoop. This street. These neighbors. All direct from central casting.

I sat and waited, watching the light of the day as it changed into night. The air was calm, but as it got later, it started to cool off. The buildings in this part of town weren't more than five stories tall and I imagined this was what it must have been like back when the city was still young. I felt timeless, a part of the fabric of everything. I belonged here, even though I hadn't earned access. I was drifting, but the sea had it's own intent. I was in the right place.

Bella showed up, carrying two plastic bags that said "Red Apple." The symbolism hit me like a bullet. She was the fruit of knowledge, impossible to un-taste. I watched her walk, confidently inhabiting her own life and was almost disappointed when she made it to me. Not because I wasn't fucking delighted and relieved to see her, but because I didn't want to disrupt her routine as much as I realized I wasn't ready to relinquish my new found equilibrium.

One brow arched, when she saw me, followed by a crooked smile that lifted one of her cheeks. She walked up to me, then looked at her feet, which were tightly laced into her black combat boots. I was pretty fucking glad to see those things again, but not her uncertainty at my presence. I felt her vulnerability when she sat down. I was an intruder in the world she'd created for herself, that was more than clear. She had said it to me in her note. She wasn't prepared for me. I was a threat. I put my arm around her shoulders and pulled her in tight against me, not in possession, but to let her know that I was on her side. I needed to show her that I wouldn't take this away from her, that she still had a choice and that I would respect whatever she wanted to do.

"Your book..."

She looked up at me nervously while I search around for what I wanted to say. I watched as she bit her thumb, chewed a piece a skin and swallowed.

"It's scary."

She smiled a little harder. Her expressions changed in increments, as if she was wary of showing too much. I didn't know who she was protecting, herself from me, or me from being exposed to too much of her at once.

"Monstrous even."

Her eyes sparkled and she smiled. Bella was mesmerizing to me. I couldn't stop looking at her, but she broke my gaze when she leaned her head on my shoulder. We sat that way, our hands entwined, until it was completely dark, taking it all in, the cars, the people, the air, the buildings, and each other's company, but when the rain started, I realized how good she smelled, and that I wasn't just hungry, I was starving.

"Want to get some food?" I asked.

She nodded and indicated the bags at her feet and motioned for me to follow. She threw together what was arguably the best peanut butter and jelly sandwich I'd ever had and I added her culinary skills to the list of things I knew about her. Despite what I'd found out in the past twenty-four hours, what I didn't know seemed vast, and I took this bit of mundane knowledge as a victory.

**-o0o-**

It was ill advised to sit down in the exact place we'd fallen. The minute my ass touched the cushion the bounce reminded me of the last time we'd been on this couch, and as much as I wanted to talk, my mind went other places.

I stared at her, trying to reconcile how the girl in front of me, who was so specifically herself, could be so many different people at the same time. In some of the pictures in her book she was the girl next door. In others she was a vamp. She was a princess in a story that was grim and dark, her virtue under siege. In one, her dangerous brows evoked Hollywood glamour. Then there were the photos of her body. Every curve was followed by a bit too much bone. The tendrils of her hair became like snakes. Her feet in the bath threatened to be pulled underneath by the too deep water. Now I understood the combat boots, the refusal to wear the silken slippers and what they might represent.

Without knowing who either of us was, I knew exactly what I wanted us to be, but in the end I did what I knew how to do best, and said something stupid. "What's up with Aro?" I asked. Bella immediately tensed, then stood and walked to the table near the windows and tossed me another thick white document.

This was her contract. She tucked herself into a chair across from me and busied herself with her laptop, as though she knew I needed space while I read. The document was thick, each page not quite in line with the one next to it. It threatened a thousand paper cuts against my thumb. I clicked back the silver arm of the binder clip and looked up at her. Her serious face made me solid.

The legalese was over the top, even for something like this. It was purposefully intimidating, but that wasn't the word I was looking for. When it finally occurred to me, though, I laughed out loud.

_Turgid._

It sounded dirty, but it wasn't. It was self-important, but not just that, it was pompous. Bella looked up from whatever she was doing. I shook my head and waved my hand. "Nothing – it's nothing. I just thought of something – never mind." She frowned and I went back to reading. It wasn't complicated, and it wasn't funny. Bella had basically signed her life away for the chance to be heard.

Not only had she granted Imprimatur the right to publish the work, including exclusive worldwide rights, she'd guaranteed that the work was actually hers to publish, which included rights for materials and illustrations that she hadn't created. The publisher also included language that granted them the right to reject the manuscript and cancel the contract, if required changes were not met. She'd agreed to a vague section on marketing, which committed the publishing house to nothing, but required her to support their efforts without question. For this, she got a certain percentage of the cover price, which escalated depending on the number of copies sold. She'd received an advance, which was less than I thought these kinds of things might be, but which was still a lot of money, payable in four installments, the last of which was due when she handed over the final version.

I looked back at the section on derivative works. Clearly this was meant to include tangential projects that might spin off from the book, should it be successful, but it could also be interpreted to include her blog, though this was an area that was murkier, specifically in regards to rights.

"Did you negotiate – "

She was cannibalizing her thumb again, and I realized my tone was confrontational. "The stuff on the blog. The photos and music, the - did you think – did you ask any of the – did you get permission from – the..."

Purposely trying not to sound like a dick, the more I talked, the more I was backing her into a corner, since she'd taken the thing down anyway, and quite honestly - and here was the exact fucking place to use the fucking word - the whole thing was _moot,_because if she wanted her book published, she had to play along.

"Bella, it's not... " I tried to reassure her, but her anxiety was about me, how I'd fucked up her plans by existing, not about the contract or what was in play. "I'm just trying to wrap my head around this."

Bella put her right hand up to her eyebrow, made a loose fist, then flicked her pointer finger at the ceiling. She nodded her head and mouthed, "Understand," then started finger spelling.

"No, I get it," I said then repeated her sign. "I understand." Not only did I know that sign, I was surprised to find that when it was just the two of us, the language seemed clear and concise.

Jasper had taught himself Spanish one summer while away at farm camp in Texas. He'd said that when you had no other way to communicate, desperation made for an excellent tutor. Though I'd suspected his desperation was more about figuring out how to flirt in two languages, I couldn't say that my motivations had been much different. I wondered how desperate Bella had been when she'd lost her voice. It dawned on me how difficult it was for her to share her thoughts with any kind of fluidity unless she was conversing with someone else who signed as well as she did, or unless she wrote it down.

I shrugged and looked at her. This was my decision, but it didn't just affect me.

She moved from the chair she was folded into, and walked across to me. I looked down at the ream of paper in my lap, the dog-eared corners. She'd clearly gone through it a hundred times, flags and sticky notes marking the sections in question. I wasn't telling her anything she didn't already know. She held her laptop tightly against her chest, apprehension coming off of her in waves. It mixed with her heat and the denim on her thighs. I ached for her.

She was fragile, breakable, soft. I wanted to protect and hold her, but another part of me wanted to be a monster, too. I wanted her on her back, legs spread wide for me. I wanted to be between her thighs and push inside. Her belly, so near to my face, just within reach of my hands, was confrontational and confusing. I wanted to put my hands around her waist and rest my cheek on her skin. I wanted to pull her down roughly and drive inside her. I wanted to be gentle. I wanted to be powerful. I wanted to make her feverish. I wanted to make her blush.

I pulled her down next to me. Bella took a deep breath, and opened the laptop. The blue light of the screen reflected on her pale skin and made her look otherworldly. She glanced at it, then at me, then back at it. She licked her right thumb and touched it to the middle finger of her flattened left hand, like she was putting a stamp on an envelope, and mouthed something that involved her tongue gently touching her top teeth before rounding her lips slightly and pushing them out.

I caught myself staring, shook my head to get myself to focus, and then asked her to do it again. This time she preceded it by first pointing to herself, then followed the sign with a gentle poke to my chest.

"You envelope me?"

She shook her head and smiled, then pretended to write something in the air. I shrugged and she tried again, more slowly this time.

"You write me?" I asked in confusion, she shook her head, before it suddenly made sense. "You wrote me a letter?"

She nodded and turned the screen toward me, then slunk down against my chest, so we were both looking. It was dated today. I looked at her words, there were as many starts as stops, as many strike-throughs as their were highlighted areas, at it was long.

_Dear Edward_

_I know you should have found out about the book from me, but there was never enough time. I'm sorry it happened like this, but I'm also really pissed. I tried to tell you it would have been better if I handled this alone, but you wouldn't listen to me. _

_I never intended for this to happen. I didn't see you coming. I told you I was unprepared, and didn't think through the implications of the blog. It was only ever for me, an outlet that was separate from the book. I felt like maybe I could forget the effect you'd had on me in the booth by talking about it out loud, and it worked really well until Wordybastard showed up. I let myself get lost in the fantasy. I craved his words, even when I missed your presence._

_Aro saw what we wrote to each other. At first he teased me about it, but then he used it to tease the book. I didn't know he was going to do it, but the fact that he was paying any attention to me – to this little book that is a tiny, tiny, microscopic thingamabob among all of these blockbusters – was flattering. I was gratified that I had a voice, and truth be told, it made my fantasy real. Even if it hadn't been you, I would have wished it was, and because I was already talking to you – _

__

Her words stopped in and their place were random and repetitive letters and symbols, like she'd drummed her fingers on the keyboard to help her think. I stared at the letters trying to decipher it, but when I couldn't, I kept reading.

_I know the way we met was unorthodox, but I figured the story of how you ended up in that booth was as complicated as the story of how I got there, and that somehow it meant we were on even ground._

_Do you want me to tell you I hated being there? Did you hate it when you were in there? It was an interesting job and I learned a lot about men and women and sex, and most importantly, myself. I learned what it's like to be human. Those few minutes of connection with someone else, when they let their guard down, show you who they really are, give themselves over to a fantasy, or, more frequently, simply feel something real for once – that's intense. It was a powerful feeling to give that to them, but I'm not going to deny that I took something from the experience for myself. _

_I only started hating it after you showed up - when I found myself hoping you'd walk in and became resentful when you didn't. You made me feel powerless and out of control, as if you'd seeped through the glass and under my skin. Out of all the momentary connections, the five-minute love affairs, you were the only one that haunted me, and when I realized I was spending my days waiting for you, rather than living my life, I knew I couldn't do it anymore. _

_This is so fucking frustrating, considering my motivation has always been to ensure my independence. You're not obligated by any of this, not one part of it, but while I understand your misgivings, your reluctance is a surprise. It's not a word I would have associated with you before today._

_Maybe I should have told you last night on the way home. It all happened so fast. I can't change it now, and even if I could I'm not sure I would if telling you yesterday would have meant that last night never happened. I have no regrets. I hope, after you've have a chance to think, that you won't regret it either._

_Shit_

_Shit_

_Shit_

_Shit_

_Shitty shit shit_

I looked up at her and tried not to smile too hard. Her cheeks flamed and she bit her lip. I closed the window to put the laptop away and take her into my arms, but noticed a file on the desktop titled "Monday Talk Points: Alistair Jane," that wiped the smirk off my face. I read it again to be sure. I had assumed it was a typical sort of author interview which would appear in a "Bedside Reading" blurb or something in one of the upfront pages of the magazine, but I hadn't expected this.

"Your interview on Monday is with Alistair Jane?"

She nodded, and gnawed at her lip.

I repeated myself to make sure she heard me. "Alistair Jane."

She nodded again, her eyes wary.

"Alistair Jane as in _Alistair Jane_?"

She furrowed her brow at me and nodded again, like I was slow.

Jane was widely known as a literary essayist who used most of his interviews to hold forth on topics that were near and dear to his heart. In short, he was a pompous asshole with a huge readership. He would either revere her, or roast her over a spit. I ignored the panic that threatened to drag me under and pulled Bella in close. She tucked her head under my chin. I looked across the room and out the window. The woman from the building across the way was still leaning on her pillow, watching the street. We were all voyeurs in one way or another, and I preferred the directness of that old lady's gaze, the fact that she might know exactly what was going on in this or any of the other apartments on the street, to the pretense and subterfuge of the media who would use this manufactured scandal for newsstand value, to sell subscriptions, regardless of what her book was about.

She mistook my contemplation for hesitancy, and opened up a new document, typing furiously. "You don't have to go. You don't have to do - "

I pulled her hands off the keyboard and held them firmly to quiet her. I wanted to be as clear and direct with Bella as possible, and when she quieted I said, "I want to make love to you," and then added, "And I want us to fuck."

_Sometimes the truth came in twos. _

She looked up at me and grinned. I stood, held out my hand, and led her back down the hall.

**-o0o-**

Just before the entrance to her room were two closets, one on other side of the doorway. I hadn't noticed them last night or this morning, but each of them had a full-length mirror mounted to the door. I pulled Bella against my chest and turned her so we were looking at our reflection. The molding of the doorframe was old and had a hundred coats of paint. They looked like columns.

I wrapped my arms around her waist and kissed the curve of her neck. I looked up at us. Her hair was down and wild. Her t-shirt was old and soft. Her jeans cut low at her hips. I hooked my thumbs through the belt loops. She raised an arm and wrapped it around my neck. I pulled at the bottom of her t-shirt and pulled it up a little. Her stomach was round and soft and her belly button was so sweet, I had to stick my finger into it, which made her smile and back into me at the same time, which made me pull her t-shirt all the way up and while she struggled out of it. I wrapped my arms back around her so she had to lean against me. When she got the thing all the way off I propped my chin against the top of her head.

Standing in her bra and jeans she was insanely cute, in addition to being sexy. Her bra was white and pretty, just a simple thing. It reminded me of her flannel nightgown, under which she hadn't worn anything at all. I unclasped the single hook. When the thin straps fell down her arms, she reached up fast to catch them, so I pulled her arms down to her waist.

"Let me see you."

She blushed, which made me shake my head, not because I thought she should be more than used to being admired, but because she had to know how much I liked looking at her. I cupped one of her breasts in my hand and reached down to unzip her pants.

"All of you."

Watching us in the mirror, how small she was against me, how almost shy she looked, me still dressed, Bella nude made my brain turn to pulp. When I managed to get her jeans down her legs, she stepped out of them and turned to face me. My eyes got heavy when her chest pushed into mine. Her skin was so soft, and her scent was indescribable. She stood on her toes to kiss me. Her lips were chubby, and her tongue flirted with mine, but I couldn't help but look over her shoulder to see something I'd seen in the booth, and been reminded of by the pictures in her book, but hadn't yet had a chance to investigate up close and personal. There they were in the reflection of the mirror. Two perfect hollows on her lower back.

"Fuck, Bella. You have back dimples."

She turned her head to try and see then shrugged like she hadn't noticed, then turned back around to kiss me, but I couldn't take my eyes off of the indentations, and put the pad of my thumbs against each, which made her shiver and pull me in tighter.

I turned her back toward the mirror – because I wanted the visual, I wanted to see everything. She brought both her hands back around my neck, which lifted her up. I held her hips and pushed my erection against the crack of her ass. Even if I had had a brain left at that point, there were no words to describe her, other than in the most basic of terms. Round, smooth, pink, brown, hot, cold. I watched my own hands as they splayed everywhere on her body. I dragged my mouth over the freckles on her shoulder as if I could vacuum them off, and watched her watching me. I smiled at her face in the mirror as my hands slipped down low. Her breaths quickened when she watched my fingers glide up the inside of her thighs.  
When she wiggled, I held still, and just looked at us until Bella made a downward pointing motion with her hand, which made me grin because I was pretty sure I knew what she meant, even though I didn't know what she was signing. Before she could finish spelling it, I said it.

"I need you."

She nodded and I undid my own pants, and when we were both naked, I nudged her just slightly and she leaned forward to put her palms against the mirror. I stepped forward and rubbed against her. I pushed my way in, stunned by the feeling of being inside of her, watched as I pulled out just slightly, but dragged my eyes to the mirror to keep myself from coming too quickly. Bella's eyes were closed, and I searched her face. When I moved slowly she bit her lips, when I moved fast, she opened her mouth and a small spot of condensation pulsed on the glass with her breath. The sight of her arousal, the way I made her body move and the look on her face reassured me that what I was doing was right.

She braced us as I drove inside of her. I rubbed and stroked her, sliding in and out, circling and circling, her attention completely on herself. When she came, she convulsed on me, and the only thing that kept me from following right behind her was the squeak of her palms slipping against the glass as she lost her balance.

I managed to keep her up and get us both to her bed. She was still on edge, shaking slightly, but the few seconds had given me a brief reprieve from my own collapse. When I pushed back inside of her, I said, "I want you to come again," and watched her as she did. The vision of her release pulled me with her, but this time I did not fall asleep, though Bella went out like a light.

**-o0o-**

I woke up with a start. My hand was wrapped around something soft, but unyielding. When I realized it was Bella's ankle my grip tightened a bit. Somehow, I'd turned myself upside down in my sleep, which seemed remarkably appropriate.

When I looked at the clock, the first thing that occurred to me wasn't the fact that it was six in the morning, it was the fact that it was Sunday, the singularly most terrifying day of the week, the day my mind flashed to the office so early and so often that it usually made more sense to go there than to stay away, because once I was at work, I could ponder other stuff, like not being there. I could sit on my fucking chair and spin until it was time to go home, so I could go to sleep, so I could go back to work.

Bella was still sound asleep, but I was dead awake. I wanted to touch her, to soothe myself with her body. I chanced a caress and slid my hand along her shoulder and down her arm. She sniffed a bit, then shifted, so I pulled away. Without a chance in hell of being able to fall back, the longer I lie there looking at her, the more I wanted to wake her up. Between my alertness, her proximity, and the growing discomfort of staying in bed, I decided to show some restraint and went to the living room.

Coffee sounded like a good idea, but I didn't want to make too much noise. I didn't know what to do with myself, and stood in front of the bookshelves in her front room looking without seeing, until I landed on the one I still hadn't finished reading, but had started this whole thing. I opened to a random page.

_Aug 3_

_Walking around the house growling/moaning feeling myself feeling it in the biceps and abdomen and shoulders taking her in my arms and lifting her off the ground. Shit is this all the fucking good I have to write about? A girl? After a while you begin to wonder if you aren't just trying to distract yourself._

Random is not always random.

I sat at the table near the windows and looked outside. It was still mostly dark, that place in the day where my thoughts were sometimes as vivid as my dreams. Her window was cracked open and I felt the suck of the cold air outside as it drew the heat from her apartment. It was quiet on the street. Every so often a cab would trawl past the line of police cars parked silently and precisely along the curb. The good guys were still in bed and the bad guys had just fallen asleep. Since I was awake, I wondered what that made me.

I picked up a pen and decided to write something that was not about Bella. After staring at the blank page for a few minutes, I wrote the first line that popped into my head: _She walks in beauty like the night__,_which reminded me of "Beauty and the Beast," which reminded me of the look on Emmett's face when I opened the door holding Rose, which reminded me of how she'd jumped up on top of me, and how his absence had made her seem almost docile. That wasn't the right word. Maybe "submissive?" Definitely not the right word. I played back and forth with a few other words, but the thing I was really thinking about was how I had managed to find my way back to Bella's and if she was all the fucking good I might ever have to write about, at least it was true. I needed the distraction of her, although fuck me if that was how I'd describe it to her.

I wrote down a nonsense sentence I'd memorized a long time ago_._

_And so it was to be what it was to have been, and had what it was to have had, had it had what it was to be what it was to have been._

I reread the line, impressed that it seemed to sum everything up so succinctly. It reminded me of Bella, and how, from the moment I'd first seen her, she'd felt inevitable. It was utterly absurd, except for the fact that it made perfect sense to me.

I wondered about her interview. I wondered how she was going to get her points across. I wondered how he would interpret her language, since it was about gesture as much as it was about articulation, about placement as much as tone. I wondered how difficult it would be to sign a concept, not just a fact, like "happily ever after" or "plausible deniability."

Which made me laugh.

_In misery and delight._ Bella's words echoed in my mind.

I spotted her manuscript on the table next to her laptop and flipped it open randomly.

_Page 136_

_...in the meantime, I stay in my anonymous box, a kingdom in which I may be as tyrannical and brutal as I please, fictionalizing myself to the extent that I can be seen for exactly who I am, a figment of my own imagination, a dream that I am forever on the brink of waking up from. An image flickers and I am horrified that reality is different than what I have imagined it to be. A scent carries on the breeze and I am nostalgic for things I haven't experienced._

_Communication is transactional, and while I understand it has always been this way, I'm desperate for dialog, a symmetrical back and forth, in which I truly get to say what I think, in which another reveals himself in his response. I don't want agreement, would be lonely if faced with my mirror image, but it would be nice to know that someone would be willing, from time to time, to manage to find himself on the same side of the looking glass with me._

_The magic whispers to me from everywhere. I hear the susurration of music, lyrics like incantations and think contradictory thoughts, trying to convince myself that I am the subject of a song, that someone out there knows I'm alive. People send me messages, and I read the subject line, wondering if it's the chance I can finally take. My first instinct is excitement, the next is distrust. I risk being hurt. I risk becoming jaded. I can't decided which is worse. It seems every word I read, every sentence I hear, has one of two themes: "See" or "Sell," "Buy" or "Pay." I want another option._

_I risk hatred in holding out. I wonder at which point it will be too late. I risk judgment in trying to remain open-minded. I walk the line between irrational inferiority and unearned arrogance. I wonder at what point being alone will turn into loneliness. I wonder if I am simply ephemera, at what point I will realize I don't exist. For now, though, it's enough to know that he exists, that somewhere he is out there._

It was ridiculous, and egotistical, to see myself in her words, and yet we were almost exactly alike, though she compensated for her lack of voice by using words better than I ever had. Yet, I knew her proficiency wasn't what she wanted me to take away from her words. She didn't want to be a fabrication, a carefully crafted enigma. Bella wanted to be acknowledged, to be real. Like it or not, she was about to get her wish. It was clear that Aro knew what he was doing, courting both mass appeal with her willingness to share her body, and the esoteric elite with her mind. I wondered what kind of fascination would result. Would the book be received as an intellectual exercise, a piece of art, or would she get fanatics, stalkers?

I cringed, recognizing myself.

I worried that she wasn't prepared for the response, that she wasn't safe. It occurred to me that while she was busy making herself incredibly vulnerable, I was primarily worried about protecting myself. She was completely unguarded in describing her experience, her desires, while still allowing that perhaps she might have it all wrong because she was always on the inside looking out. I wondered what the fuck danger I was defending myself against, what there might be in me that was worth saving other than my privacy, what one true thing I could say that would make me worth the rescue. I came up with absolutely nothing, nada, niente.

_Dolce far niente.__  
_  
This was something I'd read when I was still that kid, stuck in a conservative mindset that I'd moved away from home with, a repository for stupid facts and figures that I had crammed into my head a long time ago, but hadn't yet bothered to update with experience. I was an echo chamber for words I didn't invent and thoughts I had only borrowed. If Bella was afraid of being stuck as a construct, I had to totally renovate. This feeling that I had nothing left to lose, if there was anything to lose in the first place, energized me. I stared at the book in front of me trying to make the leaps of faith. I picked it up and let my eyes wander over the page until they landed on one word.

"Distraction."

Bella wasn't my distraction, I distracted myself. It was second nature to me, a coping strategy to fend off boredom, but I wondered if it hadn't also become the thing that stopped me from being more impulsive. I wondered whether, in my case, an immediate, smaller result was better than a larger one that might be available later if I waited. I searched my mind for what that bigger, longer-term result might be. Was there a better prize than Bella's affections, than being present to witness her success? The answer was so simple.

I wanted Bella to publish that fucking book and I was willing to do anything to make that happen.

While it could be said that this entire situation had progressed too quickly, it had taken my whole life to get to this point. I was less self-aware than I needed to be, more confident than I deserved to be, but there was one true thing I could say about myself, and that was that at the core of my being.

I was incontrovertibly, unconditionally, irrefutably, irrevocably, an asshole.

The realization flooded me with unexpected relief, because even though I couldn't entirely put the pieces of myself together, here was a role I could play.

I didn't want to be an asshole to Bella, but I could definitely be an asshole for Bella.

I felt like a weight was lifted from my shoulders, like I suddenly understood my part in this story, and it wasn't that different from the one I'd imagined all along. I instantly became deliciously tired and rock hard, and when I climbed back into bed with Bella I was happier than I'd ever been in my life.

-o0o-

On Monday morning I shipwrecked myself, made the calls that needed to be made. Sent the emails that needed to be sent. Got my brother back on the train, and got an "Attaboy" from Emmett, along with a punch in the arm. When I told Yorkie I wouldn't be coming in, ever, he sounded equal parts panicked and jealous.

Having managed my life in twenty minute increments for the past decade, dreaming up a fantastical but unlikely future, it was almost impossible to flip the switch and start planning for real. In fact, I had no idea what I was going to do with myself, other than spend as much time as possible with Bella Swan. Even that wasn't much of a plan, but at least I had a thing, which was better than nothing, and quite honestly, the only deed left for me to do at this exact moment in time was to show up and act the role I'd been born to play.

Knight in Shining Armor. Asshole extraordinaire. Call it what you like, my job was to take care of the monster that possessed me. And so, at one o'clock on the nose, I was escorted into the hotel suite by Jane's assistant, and did what came naturally. I shook hands with everyone in the room, and when I got to Bella, I couldn't help but say, "I'm not sure I ever really properly introduced myself. I'm Edward Cullen."

* * *

A/N: Much love to everyone who has read, and shared their own words. Epilogue will be up soon.

"_Go out of the house and go into the convulsion of the world, out of history into history and the awful responsibility of Time."_ Final line of Robert Penn Warren's "All The King's Men"


	17. The End

_**A**_fter a short time has passed, the imposter unmasked, the secret uncovered, the transformation complete, our lovers are reunited and the world is set aright. With their reunion we are reassured that an immutable forever, one in which our cast of characters remain untroubled, young and beautiful through the rest of time, is possible. Of course we all know this is a fantasy, but every once in a while, a fairy tale is fashioned not in the foreground, but in the marginalia, true love flourishes in the wings, rather than on center stage, and thus our little story, like so many that have come before, finds its closing act in a wedding.

* * *

**Cullen ~**** McCarty**

Jasper Whitlock Cullen, the son of Esme Cullen and Dr. Carlisle Cullen of Simsbury, Connecticut, was joined in civil union on Saturday, August 19, to Emmett Aloysius McCarty, the son of Mary and Liam McCarty of Gatlinburg, Tennessee.

Father Peter Riley, a friend of the couple, performed the ceremony with special dispensation from the Catholic Diocese in an outdoor ceremony held at Crescent Farm, which Mr. Cullen manages.

Mr. Cullen, 27, graduated from the University of Connecticut School of Agricultural and Resource Economics, and is one of the chief architect's of the local food movement in Southern New England, which endeavors to bring chefs and local growers together.

Mr. McCarty, 30, is the President and CEO of Cope & Benjamin, an advertising agency based in New York City, which was recently awarded Grand Prix at the Cannes Lion Awards for its work in the insurance sector. He is a graduate of Vanderbilt University, and earned a masters' degree in Graphic Arts from the Yale School of Art.

A second reception in New York City was hosted at the home of Isabella Swan, the novelist, which she shares with her fiancé, Edward Cullen, a satirist for this newspaper.

The couple met when Mr. Cullen's parents mistakenly introduced Mr. McCarty as the boyfriend of his brother. Says Mr. Cullen, "My mother's reaction to Emmett was highly amusing, given the fact that she had her heart set on Edward marrying him. She has, however, come around to my way of thinking." As for his part, Mr. McCarty notes, "I think Jasper and I were obvious from the first time we met."

Mr. Cullen and Mr. McCarty will maintain homes in both Connecticut and New York.

* * *

And, in fact, they all did live happily ever after.

The End.


End file.
